


Valley of the Dolls

by Avery_Kedavra



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Panic Attacks, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Apathy Sanders - Freeform, Caring Logic | Logan Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is a Dark Side, Crying, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Deceit | Janus Sanders is a Good Friend, Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Good Friend, Poor Thomas Sanders, Protective Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Sides (Sanders Sides), Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), although it doesn't always seem like that, and everyone copes with that, basically Roman is a Dark Side, falling, post putting others first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/pseuds/Avery_Kedavra
Summary: After the disastrous video, Roman doesn't come out of his room for almost two weeks. When Virgil and Thomas check on him, they find out Roman is becoming a Dark Side. Despite their best efforts, Roman falls and turns into Apathy, a Side who barely speaks and never smiles.Remus is the one who finds him lying in the Dark Side's living room. At first, Remus is thrilled, dragging his brother into all sorts of trouble. But Roman’s no fun anymore, the other Sides are paying a visit downstairs, and it’s becoming clear that Thomas can’t survive without Creativity by his side.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Comments: 105
Kudos: 420





	1. Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> So, I didn’t intend to start another WIP, but then the wonderful @caffeinated-cryptid (check out their ts-unsolved au, it owns my entire heart) created apathy!Roman. I blacked out and woke up with this in my notebook. Will I regret taking on yet another project? Probably! Will that stop me? No.
> 
> This is set right after Putting Others First, but I don't really think this is what will happen next episode. It's just exploring an idea! It will probably update on Thursdays, but it's become a new obsession of mine, so you might get a chapter faster than that!
> 
> The title is from Valley of the Dolls by MARINA. The chapter is based around Astronomical by SVRCINA.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr! @averykedavra

_The endless of darkness is hovering  
The sound of the silence is deafening  
Ten billion decibels shattering  
Forces of gravity taking me, taking me  
Weightlessness forsaking me  
Oh, this pull is astronomical.  
...Can anybody stop me?_

Roman’s door had been closed for nine days.

They’d tried everything. Talking to him, slipping notes through the doorframe, leaving him food, even asking Thomas to summon him. Roman never answered, never wrote them a note back, and the plates of food remained untouched. He ignored Thomas’ summons altogether, which was when the Sides started to get seriously worried. Sure, Roman could be sulky, but he never let a grudge get in the way of helping Thomas. Yet they stood in the living room together, Roman’s corner conspicuously empty.

Almost every hour of every day, someone was outside Roman’s room. Patton took the early morning shift, bringing Roman breakfast and asking him all sorts of questions. Patton was the best at maintaining a one-sided conversation for hours on end. Logan, who sat there later on in the morning, preferred to simply announce his presence and continue reading his book on the chair Patton had dragged over from the living room.

Janus took the afternoon. He barely interacted with the other Sides, but he was always there at one pm on the dot. He’d read aloud poetry, philosophy, Shakespeare, and loudly declare statements he knew Roman would take offense to. “Rhyming is so old-fashioned” and “Nietzche has a point—life is essentially pointless” and “Shakespeare isn’t even that good anyway.” Roman never appeared at the door, glaring and ready to duel whoever was “disrespecting the Bard’s noble name.” Janus kept trying. He sent a snake into the room one day as a scout, but it never came back.

Virgil took the evening. He’d started out pretty self-conscious about talking to a door, but eventually he got used to it. He’d talk about Disney, what happened that day, even some of his insecurities and cognitive distortions. It was weirdly comforting to just _rant_ with no judgment or feedback. He didn’t need to worry about what he said.

Which was good, because the whole situation had _not_ helped his anxiety. He’d had three panic attacks in the past week and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He _worried_ , that was his job, and it felt like his fear and pain were carving deep into him and hollowing him out. Even happy, peaceful moments were tinged with the creeping truth that Roman should be there, Roman’s in trouble, you did something wrong and he hates you and he’ll never come out again.

A lot of the time, Virgil fell asleep there, curled at the foot of Roman’s door. Patton often carried him to bed. Other nights, Logan carefully woke him up. A few nights, he stayed there til morning, when he would wake up with an aching back and a head full of fuzz. He dreamed a lot more than he usually did, and a lot of his dreams included Roman. They were never nightmares, but they left Virgil feeling empty and defeated.

Each morning, Virgil would stumble downstairs and down a cup of coffee. And Patton would take his place.

On day ten, during a meeting with Thomas, Janus finally said what they were all thinking.

“How do we know Roman hasn’t ducked out?”

Logan almost flinched. Thomas actually did flinch. Patton whispered ‘Quack’ to himself.

“Thanks,” Virgil snapped. “That’s just what we wanted to hear right now.”

“W-we’d notice, right?” Patton fidgeted with his hoodie. “We’d feel it.”

“Would we?” Logan asked.

Patton shook his head. “I don’t know!”

“Okay,” Virgil said, holding up a hand. “Calm down. How did you figure it out when I left?”

“By the affect it had on Thomas,” Logan said. “He was acting out of character due to the lack of your influence. I suppose the obvious conclusion is to see how Thomas is feeling in regards to his creative endeavors. This way, we can gauge the effect of Roman’s disappearance and proceed with this data in mind.”

“Alright.” Thomas nodded. “So…we start at the beginning?”

If Roman had been there, he’d have sang ‘a very good place to start.’ Patton would giggle, Logan would groan, Virgil would hide his smile, and Janus…well, Virgil didn’t know how Janus would react. He wasn’t exactly used to having the slippery snake lurking in the corner. At least his room hadn’t moved upstairs yet. Though it was probably a matter of time.

Logan pulled a notebook from nowhere and flipped it open. “How are you feeling, Thomas?” he asked, pen poised to write. “Answer as accurately as possible, of course, for posterity.”

Thomas shrugged. “I dunno? I…I’m fine.”

“Janus, please abstain from obfuscating the truth. You’re intruding upon the scientific process.”

“Force of habit.” Janus smiled. “It won’t happen again.”

“Right.” Logan fixed Thomas with a glare. “How are you _really_ feeling?”

Thomas sighed, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Like a piece of dirt with no control over his life.”

Patton winced. “Not good.”

“That’s kind of normal, though.” Virgil rubbed at his sleeve. “Like, he’s been a mess even before Roman left.”

“I see.” Logan jotted something down. “Thomas, could you provide any details? How has your relationship been with your creative pursuits? I know you’ve had difficulty getting projects completed.”

“Yeah…” Thomas looked sheepish. “I’m trying, Logan. I am! But…it’s just hard to focus. I have trouble mustering up the energy to make myself breakfast, much less write a video script.”

“Hmm.” Logan tapped his pen on his paper. “That does not sound optimal.”

“But it might not be Roman’s fault,” Virgil protested. He probably sounded really defensive, but sue him, he didn’t _want_ Roman to have ducked out. “We’ve all been pretty out of it. Thomas could be feeling bad ‘cause of us worrying.”

“Good point, kiddo!” Patton’s smile was smaller than usual. “I’ve definitely been a bit all-over-the-place lately.”

“That’s putting it a little lightly,” Virgil muttered. He’d seen Patton curled up on the couch, watching Disney movies and crying during Roman’s favorite parts.

“Your reaction is understandable,” Logan said, giving Patton a bracing look. “You and Roman are quite close and having a loved one in distress can lead to negative emotional response. I must admit that I, also, find his disappearance…” Logan adjusted his glasses. “A less than optimal circumstance. I work to regulate output and provide a schedule, but without Roman to create ideas, the entire operation is useless. I find it highly frustrating.”

“Roman’s really important to all of us,” Thomas agreed. “It’s not the same without him.”

Virgil stared at his shoes. “Yeah, but I’m getting the feeling _he_ doesn’t know that.”

Patton and Logan were silent.

Thomas glanced between them, then turned and looked at Janus. The sneaky snake was leaning against the couch, fiddling with his gloves.

“Janus?” Thomas asked. “How are _you_ doing?”

“Hmm?” Surprise flickered across Janus’ face before he collected himself. “I’m doing wonderfully, why do you ask?”

Thomas and Patton gave Janus the exact same stare.

Janus rolled his eyes, looking away. “I…He’s a part of you, Thomas. I’m self-preservation. I _protect_ your ego. It’s only natural that I’d rather he return.”

“The ego!” Logan snapped his fingers. “Of course! How foolish of me—Roman is not just your Creativity. He’s also passion, ego, confidence, and to some extent, romance.”

Thomas frowned. “Isn’t ego…bad?”

“No,” Janus said firmly. “Much like selfishness, having a healthy ego is not as terrible as society would lead you to believe. Your ego, in this sense, is your natural sense of self-worth.”

“Oh.” Thomas laughed. “Well, even normally, that isn’t always the highest.”

“Tell me about it,” Virgil agreed.

“Well, how has your self-esteem been lately?” Logan was writing again. “Have you noticed any changes or sudden dips?”

“I’m…I have been feeling pretty down lately.” Thomas took a deep breath. “And I might be having some kinda not-nice thoughts that all my friends hate me and I’d be better off hiding in my bed forever?”

Patton’s eyes widened. “Okay…that’s…something.”

Virgil nodded, trying to not look too guilty. “Sorry, Thomas. Sounds like I’ve been overdoing it, I’ll cut back—”

“That’s the thing, though!” Thomas said. “I’ve barely been feeling you at _all!_ It’s not panic that’s keeping me home, it’s just…I don’t know how to explain it.” Thomas ran his hands through his hair, and Virgil realized he hadn’t bothered to comb it. “Remember that, um, _friendly debate_ Roman and Logan had about why we get out of bed in the morning?”

Logan nodded. “That was certainly. An experience. But we came to a satisfactory conclusion, did we not?”

“Yeah.” Thomas pointed at Logan. “But it’s like those reasons you gave me, all that motivation and _passion_ , even that logic? It all got tossed out the window. I don’t want to do _anything._ ” He paused. “It’s like, what’s the point? We’re all going to die anyway, so—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Virgil held out his hands. “Let’s stop _that_ train of thought!”

“Clearly,” Logan said, closing his notebook with a snap, “the situation is more dire than it first appeared. We need to check on Roman immediately.”

“Okay.” Thomas nodded. “Okay. So…we’re going to his room?”

“Do we have to?” Virgil asked. “Room trips never really go well.”

“It’ll be alright,” Patton said, smiling. “We’ve got each other! And it’s _Roman’s_ room! It’s always sunny and fun and full of songs…it can’t be that bad!”

“Your room is like that too,” Virgil fired back. “And when you were in a bad mood, it was a nightmare.”

Patton looked guilty.

“We’ll stick together,” Thomas promised. “And besides, Virge, that room trip was a good thing in the end! So was the visit to _your_ room. Heck, we stopped _you_ from ducking out.”

“And then you got corrupted.”

“Yeah, but my point still stands!” Thomas drew himself up tall, holding up his chin. “I’ve got you with me. Things can’t go _too_ wrong!”

“Well, if you’re on your way, I’d _love_ to stick around where I’m not needed.” Janus pushed off the couch and flexed his fingers. “Call me if you need me. Or don’t, actually.”

Thomas watched him. “Where are you going? I wanted all of you to come—”

“Yes, but—”

“Janus.” Thomas smiled. “I said it in the last video. You’re a part of me. That means you stick around. In fact, I’d like it if you did. We’re going into unknown territory and I’d appreciate having you there to…keep us on our toes.”

Janus looked at the others. Patton beamed, Logan nodded, and Virgil hissed under his breath.

“Two out of three,” Thomas muttered. “Not bad.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Janus said delicately, “but _Roman_ may not.”

Thomas’ face fell. “Oh. Right. I—forgot about that.”

“He is probably not eager to see me, either.” Logan pushed up his glasses. “We do not have the most _amicable_ relationship.”

Patton made a quiet noise and bit his lip. “I…I’m not really sure if Roman wants to talk with me. After, you know, everything.”

“I can’t do this alone!” Thomas protested. “I know how you feel, but—”

“I’ll go with you,” Virgil interrupted, balling his fists and trying to tamp down his fear. For Roman. For Roman. “I’ve got no grudge against Princey, and I—I mean, I _think_ he likes me okay—”

“That is true,” Logan assured him. “Despite the figuratively rocky beginning of your relationship, you have a strong connection. Out of all of us, I think you would be the most suited to contact him.”

Virgil gave Logan a small smile, which Logan returned.

“So I’ll go with Virgil, then?” Thomas asked. “I dunno. Virgil, you’re great, but I’d like to have everyone there.”

“Hey, we’re only a summon away!” Patton smiled. “You and Virgil can start things out, and maybe you can call us in down the line? Or bring Roman here when he’s ready!” Patton put his hands on his hips. “And you can always dial your dear ol’ dad if you need help.”

“Patton is correct. We all ‘have your back,’ as it were. If at any time you need our guidance, we will be here to help.” Logan’s eyes flitted over to Janus. “All of us.”

Janus was uncharacteristically silent.

“Alright, then, we’re doing this?” Thomas closed his eyes. “Focusing on hopes and dreams.”

Virgil felt a wind pick up around his knees. Thomas was thinking of future shows, future videos, a life with his friends and maybe a gay Disney prince to fill his heart. Virgil almost smiled as they sunk down, finding their way to Roman’s room. He could smell roses and stage lights and old costumes, feel the tingling sensation in his stomach of being onstage, hear applause falling like rain—

Then something in the air twisted.

Old, motheaten floors. Dusty, quiet air. The shame of a performance ruined, the worry over a performance yet to come, the emptiness of a performance long finished. The darkness was crushing and stifling and soporific. Virgil’s body twanged like a taut rubber band, vibrating, feeling the weight around him, ready to squeeze him and Thomas into a million tiny pieces.

With a gasp, Thomas rose into Roman’s room. Virgil jolted into place on the stars, grabbing the railing to steady himself.

It wasn’t exactly how Virgil remembered it. The room had stretched and shrunk to resemble Thomas’ living room, leaving out the more fantastical elements. There were no golden butterflies around the ceiling, paper planes twirling in the wind with red-pen ideas scribbled on their backs, no canopy bed with completely extra amounts of frills.

But even taking that into account, it still looked wrong. The Disney posters on the wall were faded and crumpled, a few falling down entirely. The floor was littered with dust and, on closer observation, scraps of paper. Virgil hesitantly picked a few up. They were all blank, with only the ghost of words still looping on them. Idea. Video. Logan. Schedule. Virgil. Stupid. Useless. Costumes. Play. Deadline.

“Is it always like this?” Thomas whispered.

“Like what?” Virgil mumbled, scanning the paper sea for any trace of Roman.

“Like a ghost town.”

Virgil knew what Thomas meant. Everything was pale and desaturated and desiccated, the paper bleached by the sun and the posters left out in the rain.

“This isn’t good,” Virgil said for what must have been the fifth time that afternoon. He could almost hear Roman’s response: “Uh, duh, Captain Obvious. Next you’ll tell us the classic Disney villains were better than the modern ones.”

“So, where is he?” Thomas joined Virgil in peering into every nook and cranny. “Roman? Roman, are you here?”

“He has to be here,” Virgil said, trying not to panic. “Where else would he be? His door never opened—”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil froze. He didn’t recognize that voice. It sounded like Thomas, but _not_. Too lifeless, quiet, defeated. Was it one of the Others? Not Remus, and it didn’t really sound like—

“Roman?” Thomas breathed.

And Virgil saw him. Roman, sitting on the floor in front of the wall. Peeling Disney posters and chipping paint surrounded him. He was still wearing his prince uniform, still had his dramatic sweep of hair and strong jaw, but his uniform was unwashed and crumpled, his hair unbrushed, and dark circles stood out on his pale face. His knees were tucked to his chest and his hands rested on the floor. He wasn’t looking at Virgil or Thomas. Virgil followed his gaze. He saw nothing there.

“Roman!” Thomas cried. “Oh my gosh, I’ve been so _worried!_ What _happened?_ ”

“Are you okay, Princey?” Virgil paused. “Alright, strike that. You’re clearly not okay. Do you want to talk? We’ve been waiting for you to come out, and—”

“I heard.” Roman’s voice didn’t sound like Roman’s voice. He sounded like he was reading his words off a teleprompter. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What? Why not?” Thomas took a step forward, the paper under his feet disintegrating without a sound. “Roman, I’ve been a wreck without you! We need to talk this out, the other Sides are—”

“No.” Roman’s mouth twisted slightly, the most emotion he’d shown so far. “It’s almost over.”

“ _What’s_ almost over?” Dread filled Virgil. “Roman, please tell me you’re not gonna duck out!”

“I’m not,” Roman said. He laughed a bit, the sound of the paper disintegrating at the edges of the room. The pieces in Virgil’s hands turned to ash and slipped through his fingers.

“What does _that_ mean?” Virgil yelled. Yelling was probably not the best thing to do right now, but he was pumped up on fight-or-fight adrenaline, his voice growing an echo, and he wanted Roman to _react._ Sad Roman, angry Roman, insecure Roman? He could handle that. This Roman might as well be a stranger.

The room shifted, slightly. The lights dimmed. Thomas made a sound like he’d been punched.

“Roman!” There was the echo, coming in strong. “Whatever you’re doing, _stop!_ We can talk this through, we _can_ , but you need to cut it out!”

“I can’t.” Roman was still staring at something Virgil couldn’t see. “This is how it works. When a Side isn’t helping, they fall.”

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat. “No. Roman, no!”

“What?” Thomas looked frantic, probably spurred on by Virgil’s own thrumming panic. “Virgil, what’s he talking about? What’s happening?”

Almost lazily, like he really couldn’t be bothered, Roman uncurled his legs from his chest.

A black stain covered the front of his outfit. Virgil might have mistaken it for an ink leak, but the sash and golden accents were the same color, bright and cheerful against the darkness.

“One of the others,” Virgil whispered. “He’s turning into a Dark Side.”

“What?” Thomas glanced between them, as if hoping Roman would contradict that. “That can _happen?_ ”

“It’s never happened before,” Virgil said, staring at the darkness. It was steadily getting bigger, soaking through his shirt like a bloodstain. Little tendrils seeped into the wall behind Roman, the floor, an infection dripping from his skin. “But if I can go upstairs, who’s to say it can’t go the other way?”

Thomas looked horrified. “But—but Roman’s _good!_ Well, that’s not the best way to put it, given recent events, but he’s _important!_ I want him around!”

“Does _he_ know that?”

Thomas stared at Virgil, horror filling his eyes. “He doesn’t think he’s my hero anymore.”

“Oh. Oh, no.” Virgil shook his head. “No, no, no.”

“But he is!” Thomas spread his hands. “Roman, you’re an important part of me! I owe my career to your ideas and I will always value your input—”

“You’re lying,” Roman muttered.

The room shook a little more.

“Roman, please.” There were tears in Virgil’s eyes. When had those gotten there? “You’re my best friend! You talk about Disney with me, you give me all those nicknames I pretend to hate…you make us better, Roman. Make _me_ better. And I’m so grateful.” Virgil swiped at his eyes. “The Others—it’s not a fun group to be part of. _Please_ don’t do this to yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Roman insisted. The room was crumbling at the corners. The papers were now a layer of ash. The posters started to blacken like they were burning through. “Thomas is doing this.”

“I’m not!” Thomas cried. “Roman, I would never do this to you!”

“Whether you know it or not, you’re contributing to this.” Virgil jumped down the stairs and walked toward Roman. “I know you feel overwhelmed right now. Trust me, I know. But you’re going to do something you regret.”

The papers were falling. The posters were falling. The darkness had spread like a vine, snarling in the corners, suffocating the walls, skimming the floor.

“Please.” Virgil choked and a tear ran down his face. “Please, Ro. For me. For us.”

Roman’s eyes locked onto Virgil, and his eyebrows pinched together. “Virgil, you’re crying—”

Thomas’ face split into a huge grin. Virgil almost whooped. He ran forward, intent on hugging Roman and _dragging_ him out of this room by his sash.

The floor began to crumble.

Virgil held out his hands to balance himself on the tilting floorboards. Thomas grabbed the wall and yelled when it came away in his hands. The ugly black tendrils deepened until they were shadowy cracks, cutting through the wall and ceiling, running along the floor like spiderwebs, whole chunks crumbling away. Roman sat in the middle of it all, not moving, in the eye of the hurricane. The center of the spiderweb. His whole shirt was black now, his eyes blank, his hair growing darker—

“Roman!” Virgil leapt across a widening chasm, scrabbling for a foothold. “You have to fight this! You can’t—you can’t let it happen! You _can’t!_ ”

The ground around Roman was collapsing now. Fractures expanded outwards, silent and deadly. The ceiling and walls were almost gone and the floor was breaking off in chunks. Virgil had a desperate vision of an iceberg, chipping off and sinking into the sea. Beneath and around them was darkness, thick and dangerous, cold and so, so empty.

Virgil needed to go. He needed to get Thomas out of here before they all went down with the ship. But he couldn’t stand the idea of leaving Roman beyond.

“Take my hand!” Virgil yelled, tossing himself forward as the room quivered, just an island of floor in a vast void. “Roman, take it, _please!_ ”

Roman looked at Virgil’s outstretched hand. There was only a foot between them. Slowly, painfully, he reached out his hand.

And snapped, the sound echoing around the walls that no longer existed.

Virgil felt a tug, a vice grip on his ribs. Thomas doubled over, wheezing—no, he was sinking. They were sinking out.

Roman had kicked them out of his room.

Virgil clawed at the floor near him, screaming. He didn’t even know what he was screaming, his throat was raw and his hands stung but he kept fighting. Roman didn’t seem to hear. The last of the floor was disappearing and Roman just sat there, eyes closed, in a blackened outfit and no trace of life—

Thomas and Virgil were wrenched back into the real world.

And Roman fell a very, very long way down.


	2. Hours From Another Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: blood mentions, death mentions, death threats, slightly NSFW jokes, attempted violence. Basically Remus being Remus.
> 
> This chapter is based around Surrender by Malinda! Remember to check out @caffeinated-cryptid for their beautiful art!

_We’re a bomb, ticking time away  
You belong to hours from another day…  
All we need is one disaster, one relief  
Hearts beat, hoping for that old belief…  
But that was then, and this is now  
And we made it through the woods somehow  
Willing and able to breathe._

Remus was minding his own business, welding two dildos together, when his brother fell from the ceiling and landed on the living room carpet.

Remus hopped off the couch and tossed the half-melted dildos behind him, where they burned a hole through the middle cushion. But there were enough stains and burns already that the new hole fit right in.

Roman was lying still, three inches from the coffee table with the extra tentacle leg, face-down and silent. Wait, was it Roman? He wasn’t wearing the right clothes. Black, not white. And Roman would never go this long without jumping up, waving his sword, and making declarations of undying love or great heroism or something.

Still. Remus just _knew._ Maybe it was intuition, or twin-tuition, or separated-from-this-guy-at-age-seven-tuition. This was Roman Creativity Sanders himself, lying on the Dark Sides’ ragged tan carpet.

Which begged the question. What in the name of Mary Shelley was he doing _here?_

“Ro-bro?” Remus asked. “Why’d you decide to drop in?”

Roman didn’t congratulate Remus on his pun. He didn’t respond at all. He didn’t even twitch.

“You in there?” Remus tilted his head, neck cracking. “Did you pass out? You’d better not have passed out, Jan will kill me if I bring another unconscious human into his room.”

No answer.

Remus summoned a chalkboard and dragged his nails down it. The ear-splitting screech echoed around the room.

Roman didn’t flinch.

Which was rude! Remus didn’t like being ignored. He grabbed the fused dildos and chucked them at Roman’s back. But he’d never been super great at throwing things so it flew over Roman’s shoulder and began to burn a hole in the carpet. Eh, there were lots of stains in the carpet, too. Nice things in the Downstairs didn’t tend to last very long.

“C’mon!” Remus prodded Roman with his foot. “C’mon, wake up! Say something! This is boring!” He kicked Roman’s ribs, hard, and Roman curled a little tighter, making a pained noise.

Success!

Now. If a kick got him to move, what would get him sitting up and talking? Maybe a nuclear warhead in the face? Or nipple tasers? Or branding his face with swear words! All fun options, but if Roman was in too much pain to talk, it wouldn’t do anyone any good.

Remus decided answers were more important than nipple tasers. A sad truth, but there it was.

“Get up,” Remus ordered, kicking him again. “Or I’ll electrocute your nipples.”

Usually, that statement elicited a lot of screaming. Or, in Jan’s case a ‘good for you, Remus,’ but Jan was different. So it was a surprise when Roman didn’t even look up.

Was he sleeping? Unconscious? Ignoring Remus like the little bratty baby he was? Wait, was he _dead?_ No, he wasn’t dead, he’d moved—but what if he died right after that? _Could_ Sides die? Remus had done a lot of real nasty stuff that would probably kill a regular boring human body twenty times over. If ripping out his own beating heart and feeding it to a dinosaur didn’t kill a Side, Remus didn’t think anything would.

But Roman still wasn’t moving. And hey, intrusive thoughts sucked. Remus couldn’t stop picturing Roman dying, his corpse decaying on the carpet, his eyeballs drying up and—

He wasn’t dead! He was breathing! He _was_ breathing, right? He wasn’t dead, right? Remus sniffed at him and grabbed his arm, lifting it high in the air. It immediately fell back down. Alrighty, fun game! But he needed to figure stuff out. No time for games. Be a detective instead! Logan liked detective stuff, right? Remus caught him reading a Sherlock x Watson fanfic that one time. What would Logan do, and how could Remus do that better and with more butts?

Remus stuck out his tongue as he thought. He should try to gather information! Right? Like the answer to that _is-Roman-breathing_ question. He’d completely forgotten about that. Sometimes Remus really didn’t like how his mind worked, all slippery and fluid and changeable. Like a greased pig on caffeine. How slick was a greased pig anyway? Were some animals faster when greased? What about humans? What about a few specific body parts—

Breathing. B-R-E-A-T-H-I-N-G. Focus, focus, focus. Remus had a mystery to solve and he didn’t have time for this.

How did someone check for breathing? Remus held his hand in front of Roman’s face. Was that breath? He hoped it was. He barely got to see his bro and it would be a real shame if Ro-Bro’s visit was cut short by cardiac arrest. If Roman died before Remus got to kill him, Remus would _murder_ him.

Wait, heartbeat! That’s something Remus should check, right? Remus immediately reached for Roman’s chest to extract his heart. Nope. Wait a sec. They were both Creativity. Injuries _hurt_ when the other did them.

Although it might get Roman to move—

Before Remus could decide whether to jumpstart Roman’s brain with a defibrillator-style shock to the system, Roman shifted again. It was tiny, but there.

Okay. Definitely alive. Cool. Cool cool cool. Was he asleep? Wouldn’t the impact have woken him up? And he was sleeping face-down, which sounded fun and suffocating but not the sort of thing Roman was usually into. Remus couldn’t see if his eyes were open. They’d better not be, or Roman was just ignoring Remus and making his life harder on purpose.

Remus lodged his foot under Roman’s chest and flipped him over.

Huh.

That was new.

Roman wasn’t wearing his usual prince costume. Well, he _was?_ Sort of. But the white parts were all black, and the sash might have been darker as well or maybe it was just Remus’ imagination. Maybe it was because the red didn’t gleam and the gold didn’t shine. Roman was always easy to spot, like a strangely plumed peacock. Remus was the same, dousing his outfit in sparkles and ruffles. Maybe it was tasteless in Remus’ case, or ostentatious in Roman’s, but it made sure they were always the center of attention. Now, the colors were dull and seemed out-of-place on Roman’s outfit. They didn’t have any life to them, like veins with the blood drained out, only a shell left behind.

This _was_ Roman, right? He’d never be caught _dead_ in that outfit. It looked like Jan and Virgil had dressed him on a dare. But no. It was Roman’s face. Although his skin was pale and he looked a little thinner than usual and dark purple makeup dripped down his face. Like tears.

And was a lock of hair in front darker than the rest? Remus absently reached up and fingered his own white patch. He’d dyed it as a teenager and kept it around. It reminded him of Cruella de Vil, of raccoons. Roman talked about dying his hair sometimes, but usually something colorful. Red, or purple, or full rainbow. Never just darker brown.

Very emo indeed, Remus decided. Maybe this was a prank from Virgil? Virgil wasn’t really the prank type.

Then Remus noticed something _really_ weird. Roman was wearing a crown.

When they were little, back when they were the same person, they wore a crown. After they split, for a while, they’d wear cardboard crowns and paper wreaths. But as they grew older, Roman and Remus decided against the crowns. For Remus, they brought back bad memories and stories he didn’t want to revisit. For Roman, the crowns always ended up falling off. Roman was full of restless energy—maybe it was a twin thing—and any hat or headgear was bound to wobble around and tumble to the floor. Remus was the same way. He tried wearing a dear skull to dinner and it fell into Virgil’s soup. Virgil was not impressed.

But now, Roman had a crown. A small golden crown perched on his head. Like it was glued to his scalp. Like Roman wanted a crown so bad he _made_ it stay put, or he knew he wouldn’t move around enough to make it come off.

Something was definitely wrong.

Remus reared up to give Roman another kick, because he was getting _answers._ Then he noticed Roman’s eyes were open.

“You dork!” Remus yelled. “You’ve been awake this whole time? Why are you here if you’re just gonna ignore me?”

Roman’s eyes shifted over to him. He didn’t speak.

“Are you giving me the Silent Treatment?” Remus stuck out his bottom lip. “Rude! You visit just to act like I don’t exist? I thought princes have manners!”

Roman swallowed and whispered “Not visiting.”

“He speaks!” Remus paused. “Wait, what d’ya mean? You’re here, aren’t you?” He groaned. “Oh, is this another hallucination? I _knew_ I shouldn’t have eaten those carrots—”

Roman shook his head slightly.

“What are you _saying?_ ” Remus stomped his foot. “If you don’t start talking sense, I’ll bash your skull in!” Remus summoned his mace and swung it from his hand, leering at Roman. “I’m gonna.”

Roman looked away.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Remus said, poking Roman hard in the leg with his mace.

That leg should have bled, thick and strong. Roman should have screamed like a girl and clutched the wound as the skin split and veins separated. Remus should have Sides at his door, patching Roman up and giving Remus dirty looks that weren’t the fun kind of dirty. Roman should be back the next day, sword in hand, and it would be Remus’ turn to bleed out, JanJan lecturing him as he tightened the bandages, asking why they couldn’t just leave each other alone.

That’s what should have happened.

But the mace stuck in Roman’s leg. No blood bubbled up around the points. Remus pulled it out with a squelching noise.

There was no damage.

“What?” Remus said aloud, prodding the area. Not a scratch. Even Roman’s clothes were intact. He’d sharpened that mace this morning, why wasn’t it—

A new outfit. A new crown. Makeup running down his face. The usual _just-the-brothers-can-maim-each-other-rule_ no longer applying.

Remus dropped his mace. It clattered on the ground.

“No.”

Roman met his eyes and nodded.

“No, no, no.” Remus shook his head hysterically. “No! Nope! Not dealing with this!”

Roman exhaled and turned away again. Remus stared at him with wide eyes. This was a prank. A joke. It had to be! Sides didn’t just change, that wasn’t how this worked. Virgil switched, but Virgil was different. Roman was the fan favorite, the pretty boy, the good twin, everything Remus would never be.

“Jan?” Remus called, eyes trained on his brother. “Roman just fell into the living room and I think he might be a Dark Side now?”

He waited for Jan to respond. The Mindscape was quiet.

“ _JanJan?_ ” Remus yelled at the top of his lungs.

No answer.

“Guess you’re not here,” Remus muttered bitterly. “Again.”

Great. He was alone in the Downstairs with a half-way comatose twin brother in a weird new outfit, that he couldn’t even stab!

“What _happened_ to you?” Remus asked, not expecting an answer. “Did someone say something? I know the last video was a mess, but I thought y’all would figure it out. That’s what you do, right? Kiss and make up like in My Little Pony?” Remus blew a giant raspberry at Roman’s face. “I had things to do today and you completely messed up my schedule, so thanks a lot.”

Roman didn’t apologize. That tracked.

“You know what?” Remus asked, pacing back and forth. “You know what?”

He reached down and grabbed Roman’s face, squishing his cheeks and puckering his lips. “What?” he asked in a falsetto.

“I’m so glad you asked!” Remus released Roman’s face and stood up again. “I’m going to pay Upstairs a visit and see if I can pawn you off. You’re gonna be someone _else’s_ problem, dearest brother-of-mine.”

Roman did not protest. Remus grabbed his mace off the floor and, swinging it joyfully, headed down the hall. His feet squelched on the carpet—it never really recovered from that cloud of blood, did it? The staircase was past the doors, a rickety set of spiral stairs perfect for pushing people down. Jan did that to Virgil once. It was hilarious.

Remus passed his own door first, a green slimy slab of putrid, hardened pus. ‘CREATIVITY’ was scratched into it with, Remus recalled, a double-bladed knife. The next door was Jan’s, made of dark burnished wood, a golden plaque proclaiming ‘DECEIT: Please Enter.’ The third door had no doorknob or keyhole, and the only marks were four long scratches down the front, like something had clawed it.

Remus deliberately ignored the blank, dirty patch of wallpaper where a fourth door used to be.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move.

Remus whirled, mace at the ready. At first he didn’t see anything. It was just a stretch of ugly wallpaper with some unidentifiable stains and graffiti that yelled ‘EAT THE RICH’ in bold letters.

But one of the stains, a dark one in the center of the wall, was steadily growing wider. No, it wasn’t really a stain—it was a rip, a tear. The wallpaper peeled away, revealing—a door handle?

_What?_

Remus creeped forward, hand still on his mace. Despite himself, hope bloomed in his stomach. The door was a familiar shade of black. It was impossible, but—was Virgil coming back? No. He wouldn’t. Would he? _Could_ he? And if he wasn’t, why as a door appearing on the wall?

Maybe it was a storage closet or something. Who summoned it, Jan? Ugh, if Jan _was_ here and had just ignored Remus, he’d have a bed full of shaving cream tonight.

The door was getting larger, stretching until it reached over Remus’ head. The wallpaper folded around the corners of the door and was scored away along the edges. The gold doorknob rattled and clicked, a new keyhole right below it. Remus reached out and tried to turn the knob. It wouldn’t budge.

The whole door was black. On closer inspection, it wasn’t the same black as Virgil’s door. Virgil’s was iridescent and almost purple. This black was just matte black. Virgil’s door was paint on wood. This was—Remus touched the surface carefully—almost glassy in texture. Cool and smooth.

Then, under his fingers, red scribbled across the surface, looping around and tucking back into itself. A red square settled around the doorknob, a red stripe slashed across the door like a sash, and on that sash, black cursive etched out a name.

APATHY.

In little golden letters beneath, ROMAN SANDERS.

In even littler letters, DO NOT ENTER.

Remus pressed his fingers to his mouth, reading the words again. Apathy. Roman Sanders, do not enter. Apathy. Roman Sanders. Apathy, Roman. _Roman._

A hysterical laugh bubbled in Remus’ throat. He stumbled to the opposite wall and slid down it, staring at the door. He blinked hard. It didn’t disappear. He ripped his eyeballs out, dusted them off, and popped them back in. The door was still there.

Apathy Roman.

“You little…” Remus laughed. “You little _b*tch!_ ”

He didn’t even mind that Thomas’ mind censored swears. He swore anyway. He swore and laughed until he was gasping for breath. He said every swear word he knew and some he was pretty sure he’d just made up. He laughed until his eyes watered. Was he complaining or celebrating? Remus didn’t know.

He didn’t know a lot of things. How did this _happen?_ Was it permanent? Would Roman stay for a day, a month, a year, _forever?_ Remus glanced toward the living room. Roman hadn’t moved from the floor. Well.

“Hey, turd!” Remus called. “You’ve got a room here, did you know that?”

Roman didn’t respond.

“Seriously? Don’t tell me you died while I was over here.” Remus walked back down the hall and poked Roman in the chest. “Get up. The door won’t open for me and I’m really curious what it looks like inside.”

Roman looked blankly up at Remus. Remus leered back. When that got no reaction, he tore off his nose and let blood drip down his face. Still nothing! Was Remus losing his touch or was Roman just that apathetic?

Apathy. Apathetic. Oh. Yeah, that made sense.

“Okay, I get it,” Remus said. “Your new gig is being a grumpy formless blob. Cool. Fine. But I’ve got business to do in the living room and you can’t just lie there forever. Get your _tuchas_ moving and come check out your new digs.”

Roman looked away again.

“You’ve taken a vow of silence or something?” Remus flexed his fingers. “That’s irritating, I can’t read minds like Jan. Tell you what. Blink if you’re gonna get up and _walk_ with me to your room, don’t blink if I’m gonna have to drag you down the hallway like a dead body.”

Roman didn’t blink. Either he wanted to be dragged or couldn’t be bothered to move his eyelids. Good enough for Remus. He grabbed Roman’s ankles and tugged him down the hall.

It was slow going. Roman was heavy and he kept getting stuck on the carpet. Remus tried his best to make conversation. He was used to talking to people who ignored him, so it was pretty easy. It was like that scene in Inside Out, he thought vaguely. Huh, that was weird. Usually his similes were more X-rated.

Wait.

If Roman wasn’t Creativity anymore—did that mean Remus was—

Remus stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, his brother in one hand and his mace in the other.

Was he the only Creativity now?

Was he like _Him?_

No. No, he wasn’t. He’d know. He could tell if something was different. Remus hadn’t changed. He was still demented and disgusting and delectable.

But wasn’t that worse?

Thomas…Thomas didn’t have Roman anymore. No flights of fancy or unicorn horns. Just asphyxiation and zombies and everything in between. Creativity was no longer balanced in a yin-yang black-white good-evil situation. It was all Remus.

He’d always wanted more control. More attention. To really have a say in Tommy’s decisions, to not be shunted aside and sidelined because his ideas were too ‘mature.’ He’d always wanted to knock Roman down a peg, kick him a few rungs down the social ladder.

Just…not like _this._

He didn’t want Roman to fall off entirely. He didn’t want Roman to leave the stage. He didn’t want Roman _gone._

Remus couldn’t—he couldn’t be the _only_ Creativity. He was no good! Everyone said so! They’d probably blame _him_ for Roman’s fall even though, for once, it wasn’t his fault, and Virgil would hate him and Jan would finally leave and—

There was a light tap on his leg. Remus jerked out of his thoughts, glancing down at Roman. Roman’s eyes were a little wider than normal. He looked worried.

“Okay?” Roman asked quietly.

_Are you okay?_

“Of course,” Remus said, waggling his eyebrows and ignoring the pang in his chest. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Roman’s arm and swung him around his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Without the friction from the floor, Remus was at Roman’s door in seconds. He reached out and jiggled the handle. Still locked.

“You’re gonna have to open this,” Remus told Roman, twisting his head around to look at him.

Roman sighed quietly. His finger twitched, and the door swung open. Remus barged in and tossed Roman on the bed. It had black and grey sheets with a red quilt and was the only thing in the room. The walls and floor were bare plaster. It looked like a prison cell.

“Jeez,” Remus complained, “not very stylish, bro. Would it kill you to add some color?”

Roman was already curled up on the bed, not bothering to cover himself with sheets. He stared at the wall.

“Fine, _I’ll_ decorate.” Remus snapped his fingers and added a large mirror with claw feet, a few grotesque paintings on the walls, and a knitted carpet the color of dried blood.

“Perfect.” Remus glanced at the still motionless figure on the bed. “Look, I’m gonna call in some backup, okay? Don’t die while I’m gone.”

Roman closed his eyes and seemed to fall asleep immediately. Remus watched him for a second before bolting out of the room. The door banged on the wall as he threw it open.

“ _Jan!_ ”

Why wasn’t he _here?_

Remus stomped down the hallway toward Jan’s door. If JanJan wasn’t here, he’d just break into his room and _make_ Jan pay attention.

As he passed the handle-less door, he paused. The food flap was locked but Remus knew the combination, he could—

No. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.

Instead, Remus kicked the snaky boy’s door open. Ha, joke’s on JanJan for letting Remus come in whenever. A snake hissed at him from its terrarium. Remus hissed back.

It would be pretty much impossible for Jan to ignore this. All Sides knew if someone else was in their room. Remus usually resented that. It made pranking harder. But today it came in handy.

“Oh, JanJan!” Remus stepped toward the bookshelf. “Sure would be a shame if all these lovely volumes were dumped into a vat of motor oil and set on fire!”

No angry snake appeared. Remus kicked over an end table and tossed some slime on the bed.

“Seriously, Jan,” Remus continued, releasing some crickets in the closet. “I’d get in here if I were you!”

There was a loud clang outside. Footsteps. Remus ran to the door and saw Jan, capelet flying behind him and face flushed, _running_ down the stairs.

“There you are!” Remus complained. “Took you long enough.”

“I—” Jan stumbled to a stop in front of him, bending over and panting. “There—Remus—”

“What’s up, Double Dee?” Remus glanced at the open door behind him. “Um, I’d be careful going inside if I were you—”

“Remus,” Jan repeated, finally catching his breath. He straightened. There was panic in his eyes. “Remus, we—we have a situation.”

“Yeah, no _sh*t_ , Sherlock!” Remus snapped. “While you were off playing nice Upstairs, that _situation_ fell into our living room.”

“What?” Jan’s mouth dropped open. “Roman— _what?_ ”

Remus grimaced. “You’d better come see this."


	3. Change of Pace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um okay so apparently my list of 'dynamics I could literally write forever' has grown to include Demus/Dukeceit! Who knew?
> 
> Also, we're getting into interesting territory here, so I'm going to write a disclaimer: ALL SIDES ARE SYMPATHETIC IN THIS STORY. Some of them make bad decisions or blame each other for things, but these are CHARACTER FLAWS THEY WORK ON THROUGHOUT THE STORY. Just wanted to make that very clear. I do not like u!sides and want all my boys to be happy, thank you.
> 
> Warnings: gun mention, blood mention, eating and food, slight NSFW jokes, depression and depressive symptoms, very minor body horror, self-deprecation, suicidal ideation
> 
> Chapter is based around The Record Player Song by Daisy the Great!

_Wipe my eyes and cut me off  
I’m just crying for attention  
I wish I’d been a teenage rebel  
Never even got detention  
I don’t really love you  
I just said that for a change of pace  
I’m sorry, sometimes I don’t recognize my face  
…Sometimes I think all I’m ever doing is  
Trying to convince myself I’m alive._

“So.”

Jan didn’t respond. He was still staring at the door.

“So,” Remus said again, hoping something would happen this time.

“One minute, Remus.”

Remus tapped his feet together and waited. Ten seconds in, he got bored. “So?”

Jan pinched the bridge of his nose. “One. Minute. Remus.”

“It’s been like five minutes already!” Remus complained. “Are you having a mental breakdown?” Remus poked Jan’s cheek. “You seem the type to have a mental breakdown.”

Jan swatted Remus’ hand away. “I am _not_ having a breakdown. I am _considering my options._ ”

“Really?” Remus asked. “What are the options?”

“Forcibly dump Roman back with the ‘Light Sides’, groom him in the ways of evil and selfishness, let him waste away on his own, or burn the entire Mindscape to the ground so I don’t have to deal with this insanity.”

Remus nodded thoughtfully. “I like the last one.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“But I think you’re forgetting the most entertaining option.” Remus spread his hands. “How about—”

Jan glared at him. “Do _not_ say murder.”

“Ah…” Remus shifted. “Theft! Of his life and internal organs!”

Jan gritted his teeth. “Of _course_ you want to murder Roman.”

“I don’t _want_ to,” Remus protested. “It would just be the most entertaining. He’s more fun when he’s alive! I can stab him and cut his fingers into itty bitty pieces and—”

A vein throbbed in Jan’s forehead. “Remus, be quiet for a _second._ ”

Remus obediently waited a second. “—but I bet we could strangle him without too much trouble, unless you want to be _really_ kinky and get some knives involved—”

“Remus.”

“—I dunno if you’re into that sort of thing…hey, we’ve never found out if you’re poisonous to eat! This could be our chance to—"

“ _Remus!_ ” Jan snapped. “This has been a _very_ long day. Thomas is sick as a dog from the reconstruction of his entire Mindscape, I had to comfort a sobbing Patton and a panicking Virgil despite not being an empathetic or comforting person, and now I find out that Creativity has been dumped on my doorstep like an unwanted magical orphan. Please, if you have _any_ mercy, _let me think._ ”

Remus looked Jan over. “So…you’re having a breakdown _now_ , right?”

“ _Why haven’t I killed you yet?_ ”

“Beats me!”

Jan leaned forward and slammed his forehead into Roman’s door.

“JanJan?” Remus tapped his shoulder. “Whatcha doing?”

“Praying for spontaneous human combustion.” Jan squeezed his eyes shut. “Give it a second.”

“C’mon.” Remus lowered his volume and tried his best to sound not entirely maniacal. “Let’s say hi to Roman already! Maybe he’s slept off his weird funk. Or maybe this was all thanks to sleep deprivation or a calcium deficiency and he’ll be back to normal in no time!”

“Should we be so lucky.” Jan slowly raised his head. “I suppose I should greet him, despite him definitely not wishing to see me.”

“He doesn’t want to see anyone,” Remus confessed. “It says so on the door.”

Jan nodded and knocked twice. “Roman? Can we come in?”

There was no reply.

“Let me in,” Jan ordered. “I am not having a repeat of the past nine days, Roman. I need to speak with you.”

Remus looked at the still-locked door. “Um, JanJan? Try not to sound like you’re going to yell at him for stealing your old record player or disown him for stripping. Just a thought.”

Jan sighed. “Fine. Roman, _please._ I don’t want this to be the case, but…you’re here now, and I want to help. Preferably to get you out of here as fast as possible. Whatever the case, I—I look after everyone down here. That’s my job. I suppose you’re technically part of that now. So…could you let me in?”

There was a long pause. Remus shuffled from foot to foot, ignoring the itch in his hands and feet. Jan glanced at him and tossed him a fidget cube, the one with the buttons. Remus grinned and began to fiddle with it immediately.

Finally there was a soft click and the door swung open.

Jan breathed a sigh of…relief? Who knew with JanJan. He stepped inside and Remus followed, still enjoying the satisfying click of the buttons.

Nothing in Roman’s room had changed. Roman still lay curled on the bed, staring at the wall.

“Hello,” Jan said delicately, fidgeting with his gloves. Remus chewed on his lip and wondered if Jan needed the fidget cube more than him. “Uh, Roman?”

“He’s listening,” Remus explained. “Just doesn’t bother talking back.”

“Okay. Alright.” Jan tried for a smile. “So! You’re Downstairs now? A ‘Dark Side’, to use your terminology? Do you know why that happened?”

Remus chucked the fidget cube at Roman’s back, but even the small thump didn’t make Roman respond.

“Right, I suppose you couldn’t answer any of my questions if you’re currently mute.” Janus flexed his fingers. “Look. Can I be honest with you?”

That got a small derisive huff from Roman. Remus grinned.

“Yes, haha, I’m Deceit, very funny, let’s continue.” Jan tented his fingers. “You’re upsetting the delicate equilibrium I’ve scrounged from what I was given in this miserable dump, and your presence has implications I’d rather not think about. So I would, if you’d be so kind to let me, like to return you Upstairs and have our darling friends the ‘Light Sides’ figure out how to fix this. Do you understand?”

Roman stared at the wall.

“This is very disconcerting,” Jan muttered. “Roman, please move. Or speak. Or convey to me your sentience.”

“Look, he’s not gonna.” Remus shrugged. “Just roll with it and drag him anywhere he needs to go. He’s, like, really depressed.”

Jan’s eyebrows pinched together. “ _Depressed?_ ”

“Yeah, he’s blue da ba dee da ba die.” Remus waved a hand. “It’s obvious.”

Jan gave Roman a piercing look. “If that’s the case, maybe we should summon that strange therapist with the pink shirt?”

“Roman’s side of the Imagination,” Remus said. “Dunno what it’ll look like right now. I guess we’ll have to explore… _other_ avenues.”

“I don’t know whether you’re implying sex or torture, but no.”

“Hey, they don’t have to be mutually exclusive, if you—"

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Jan clenched his fist. “Why did I take that oath to never silence you guys?”

“Oh yeah!” Remus turned to Roman. “One of the perks of being down here—JanJan doesn’t shut you up! I mean, I guess he never did anyway ‘cause he says you’re easy to manipulate, but—” Janus coughed loudly. “Anyway! It’s actually pretty cool down here, Ro-Bro! We’ve got a couch and everything!”

Jan’s face worked. Remus didn’t know if he was about to smile or frown. “Yes, because Upstairs, they sit on a giant dinosaur plush to watch TV.”

“That sounds really cool though!” Remus exclaimed. “Remind me to make that later. Then we’ll have a couch and a dinosaur plushie and _this_ handsome face and Jan’s cooking and a ton of other cool stuff!”

“Thank you,” Jan said, “for helping me list more reasons that support my claim: Roman should leave now.”

“I’m just trying to make him feel welcome!” Remus crossed his arms twice over so they slipped in and out of each other like slimy spaghetti noodles. “Look, either we stick him back with the Light Sides who are kind of the reason he’s like this, or let him hang out. Or murder him.”

“No murder.” Jan held out a finger. “I draw the line there. The others would be furious and I’m _this_ close to infiltrating them and gaining their trust.”

“Oh, _that’s_ what you’re calling it?” Remus grinned, darting out of reach. “What about that time you almost _cried_ last week ‘cause PatPat gave you a _hug_ —”

Jan hissed. “Be quiet!”

“What? Can’t handle the truth, _Deceit?_ ” Remus glanced at Roman. “Anyway, I really don’t think he’ll be telling anyone.”

Jan was silent. Remus took that as a cue to check Roman over and make sure he hadn’t died while they were talking. Out of the dimly lit hallway, he could see the gauntness of Roman’s face and the paleness of his skin. He had a small cape, and the edges were tucked around him in a makeshift blanket nest. His hair was greasy and unwashed, the dark section stiff like someone had rubbed turds into it.

“I could kill him,” Remus said conversationally. He knew he was repeating himself, he knew Jan didn’t want him to keep bringing it up, but the silence was awful and ill-fitting like an itchy Christmas sweater. “I could just knock him in the skull, he wouldn’t feel a thing!”

Jan opened his mouth, probably to tell Remus he was being annoying—yeah, like Remus didn’t already know, like that wasn’t the whole _point_ of his existence—

“Sounds nice,” Roman mumbled, curling tighter into his blankets.

Remus’ train of thought derailed, smashed through the station, and caused the deaths of hundreds of innocent people.

Jan stared at Roman, eyes wide.

“Okayyy,” Remus said slowly. “Um—”

“ _No!_ ” Jan threw up his hands and stalked towards the door. “No! Absolutely not! I am not equipped for this! We are taking him Upstairs _immediately,_ Remus, and if you get in my way because you want another guinea pig, so help me I will _lock_ you in your room!”

Remus glanced at Roman on the bed. His brother, usually so grand and loud and bold and annoying, looked very small.

“Jan,” Remus called. “Wait.”

Jan paused in the doorway, not turning around. “This had better be good.”

“I—” Remus searched for words. He wasn’t really good at stringing sentences together like Jan, because his thoughts didn’t really come in sentences. They were just bursts of feeling and vivid images.

“Can he stay the night?” Remus sucked in air through his teeth. “I know you hate him, but…maybe a few days?”

“He’s not welcome here,” Jan fired back. “He’s not _safe_ here. You know this.”

“And he’s safe with _them?_ ” Remus laughed. “They’re the ones who made this happen in the first place!”

Jan turned around, frowning. “Remus, that’s not what—”

“Please.”

“What?”

“Please,” Remus repeated. “I bet you really want to help but you’re just being slippery about it. _Please._ ”

“Of course I _want_ to help!” Jan snapped. “I protect the ego—helping Roman is, quite literally, in my job description. But I don’t believe letting him wallow in sadness in this hovel hotel will do him any good!”

“So you’re saying you couldn’t do a good job?” Remus laughed. “Hey, I turned out fine! And Virgil’s alright except for the neuroses and panic attacks, but who’s perfect?”

Jan stared at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

“You know I don’t understand sarcasm!” Remus clasped his hands. “Pretty please, JanJan? Pretty please with mucus and intestine on top?”

A muscle jumped in Jan’s jaw.

“ _Fine,_ ” he ground out. “He stays. For now. Only because I am not in the mood to go upstairs and deal with _that_ mess again.”

Remus beamed, running up to Jan and spinning him around. “You’re the bestest, Double Dee!”

“Don’t call me that,” Jan muttered, extricating himself. “Let’s go, it’s time for dinner.”

“Goodie!” Remus clapped his hands. “Can Roman come too?”

Jan gave Remus a weary look. “…I suppose we couldn’t let him _starve._ ”

“Yes!” Remus pumped his fist. “You won’t regret this, I swear!”

“I’m sure I won’t,” Jan agreed, watching Remus with a vaguely amused expression. “Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. Get Roman down the hall without maiming him, if possible.”

“Will do!”

Jan nodded and swept out the door, leaving Remus alone with his conked-out brother.

“So, Ro-Bro.” Remus stuck out his tongue and licked his eyelids. “You ready to get carried again?”

To his surprise, Roman sighed softly and rolled off the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thud.

Remus winced. “Um…good job! You planning to roll to the kitchen?”

Roman made a weak gesture.

“You want me to roll you.”

Roman shook his head.

“You—”

Roman slowly, painfully slowly, started to sit up. “Oh!” Remus said, grabbing his hand and helping him to his feet.

Roman slouched, Remus noticed as he finally stood all the way up. His chin was dropped and he didn’t make eye contact. His cape curled around him, a safety blanket. Roman yawned and stumbled.

“Hey, no!” Remus yelled, clapping loudly. “It’s not sleepytime anymore! It’s dinnertime! Do you want to starve to death? Actually don’t answer that, I’m already worried enough about your mental state.”

Roman obligingly didn’t answer. He just sunk out. Remus idly wondered if Roman could rise up anymore or if he’d just appear like the rest of them. Then he thought to wonder where Roman was going.

There was a scream and a crash, and Jan yelled “Please _do_ appear behind me!”

Remus snickered. Question answered.

He sauntered down the hall, pausing to work on a mural he’d been making on the living room wall. It depicted what Remus thought the inside of a stomach would look like. He added a few globs of red on one end before licking the paint off the brush and tossing the brush to the floor.

Jan was boiling water in the kitchen, his extra arms pouring drinks and setting the table. Roman was slumped in one chair, chin in his hand, picking idly at his napkin. Remus swung into the chair opposite him with a large smile and a squelching noise. He tossed a dead duck onto Jan’s chair. Without even looking, Jan grabbed the duck and tossed it in the trash. Boo.

“Here.” Jan ladeled the spaghetti into four bowls. One, he covered with saran wrap and left on the counter. The other three he tossed on the table. Wiping his six hands on the dish towel, Jan finally turned around. Remus saw him flinch slightly when he saw Roman sitting at the table.

Made sense. That used to be Virgil’s spot.

Jan quickly shook off the surprise and sat down, his arms disappearing into his sides. Remus frowned. He liked JanJan’s extra arms. They were all wiggly and opened up all sorts of neat possibilities. He still hadn’t found out if they regenerated after getting cut off. Like a starfish! Or a worm! Or an immortal fire golem! Maybe the hand grew a mind of its own and would scuttle around like one of Virgil’s spiders. It would be fun to have a pet hand. All of Roman’s pets ended up dying gruesomely, and almost five times it wasn’t his fault.

“Eat,” Jan said gently, winding spaghetti around his fork. He’d given Remus a fork, probably out of some delusional optimism that Remus would actually use it. Remus stabbed the fork into his shoulder for safekeeping and shoved a handful of spaghetti into his mouth. Then he popped in two meatballs, squirted sauce directly into his mouth, and swallowed.

Jan pointedly stared at his plate.

Roman wasn’t eating at all. He poked idly at the spaghetti, elbow on the table.

“Cheese?” Jan offered, pushing a bowl of grated cheese toward him.

Roman stared at it thoughtfully. His arm whipped out and he grabbed a handful of cheese, stuffing it into his mouth.

“You know,” Remus said, grinning, “I’m starting to like you.”

“There’s two of you.” Jan watched Roman swallow with disgust. “There’s two of you now.”

“This is all I’ve ever wanted.” Remus wiped a fake tear from his eye. “Someone who truly understands me.”

Jan snorted. Roman didn’t. He let the remaining pieces of cheese fall from his hand and resumed staring at his spaghetti.

“It’s not poisoned,” Remus assured him. “Jan wouldn’t do that again. And anyway, I’d have been poisoned by now. Unless it’s one of the poisons I’ve built up a resistance to. Then you might be screwed.”

Roman set his fork down and pushed the plate away.

“Roman,” Jan said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not poisoned.”

Roman pushed the plate a little further away.

“Cheese isn’t a meal.” Jan pushed the plate back. “You need to eat.”

Roman looked away. “Not hungry.”

Jan gave Remus a loaded expression. Remus didn’t like that. The only things he liked loaded were guns and bank accounts.

But Jan took another bite of spaghetti and his expression smoothed over. “It was a huge scene Upstairs.”

“Really?” Remus leaned forward. “I want the juicy details!”

“Well, they’re all _extremely_ distraught about the loss of their prince.” Jan’s eyes flickered over to Roman. “Virgil had a panic attack, I believe. Logan was furious, I couldn’t tell who at. Thomas immediately collapsed with a fever, and Patton wouldn’t stop sobbing into my shoulder.” Jan brushed at the offending shoulder. “It might have been amusing under different circumstances, but this time it was just sad.”

“Damn.” Remus tore a meatball in half and stuck the halves on his middle fingers. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“They probably won’t fully recover for days.” Jan glanced at Roman again. “That entire debacle in Roman’s room shook Virgil and Thomas up. I have no idea what actually happened, but from what I heard, it sounds nightmarish.”

Roman curled into himself, grasping at one side of his cape. “Sorry,” he whispered into his spaghetti.

“No, I—” Jan stammered. “R-right. Well, doubtless as soon as they recover, your friends will be marching down here and getting you back. Virgil especially would hate to leave you in such company. They won’t trust me to take care of you, that’s for certain. Perhaps they’ll mount some sort of rescue mission.” Jan smirked. “That would certainly be entertaining. If they call upon me to play the villain, I will gladly oblige.”

“Liar,” Roman muttered. “What?”

Roman’s mouth closed. Jan stared at him. So did Remus.

“O-of course I’m a liar,” Jan said. “My name is Deceit.”

Wait—which was the lie? That Jan would want to play villain? That the Sides didn’t trust Jan? That the Sides would come for Roman at all?

Remus funneled spaghetti into his mouth. Thinking _sucked._ That’s why he left the smarty-pants stuff to Jan.

Jan, who was now stabbing at his spaghetti viciously. Roman’s eyes closed and he seemed to fall asleep in the table. Remus grabbed his bowl and placed it on his head, letting the remaining tendrils of spaghetti crawl down his forehead.

Jan slammed his fork on the table. “Did I do this?”

Remus scrunched up his face in confusion. “Do what? A murder? A butthole?”

“ _This._ ” Jan gestured violently at Roman. “Is this my—I mean, am I going to be held accountable for this?”

“Why do you care?” Remus asked.

“I’d rather not be burned at the stake for corrupting the good prince Creativity.” Jan bit into every word. “So? Roman? _Is this my fault?_ ”

Roman didn’t open his eyes. Remus was sure he hadn’t heard the question until Roman said, “Maybe.”

“ _Maybe?_ ” Jan hissed. “That is not an answer!”

Roman shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Jan opened his mouth and shut it again.

“If you’re not gonna eat your food,” Remus said to Roman, “can I—”

“I’ll save it as leftovers,” Jan interrupted, taking Roman’s plate and sliding it into the fridge. “Remus, touch it and your life is forfeit.”

Remus pouted. “Roman wouldn’t mind, right, Roman?” Roman snored softly, head on the table.

“Is he _asleep?_ ” Jan asked.

“I guess?” Remus shrugged. “Must have been tired.”

“Hmph.” Jan placed the dirty dishes in the sink. “There goes my plan to force him into doing dishes. If he’s loitering around for the night, he may as well make himself useful.”

Remus looked at Roman, who was drooling on the table. “Yeah, I wouldn’t count on it.” Janus sighed loudly, casting his eyes up to the ceiling.

“But I can do the dishes!” Remus offered, jumping up and wiggling his fingers. “I’ll just need some hot wax, molten lava, and—”

“Never mind.”

“It’ll take like three seconds! Literally!”

“Never _mind,_ Remus.”

“Fine, whatever.” Remus kicked his chair. “You’re full of _don’ts_ today. What _can_ I do?”

Jan’s face pinched. “I suppose you can accompany me this evening.”

“Yay!” Remus hugged Jan quickly. “What are we doing?”

“I was thinking Aladdin. A classic tale of lying and deceiving one’s way to the top.”

“Alright!” Remus grinned. “I like the genie.”

“You would.” Jan glanced at Roman. “Maybe a Disney movie would—get him moving.”

“I don’t think he’d get moving if there was nuclear fallout, but worth a shot.” Remus slid into the living room. “Let’s go!”

“You get it ready,” Jan said. “I have to…” He picked up the fourth plate of spaghetti.

“Right.” Remus really, really didn’t want to be alone with his brother. It would be silent and deadly. “I’ll come with!”

Jan, to his credit, didn’t look immediately disgusted. “Remus, I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“I’m coming!” Remus winked and congratulated himself for his innuendo. Then again, everything was innuendo if you said it right. “You _said_ we’d get to hang out! So I’m sticking to you like a barnacle on the bum!”

“Sh*t,” Jan said, not looking that disappointed.

“Do you have some?” Remus asked, dancing over to the hallway. “That’d make things interesting! Come on, JanJan, let’s not keep him waiting!”

Jan pushed past Remus and strode down the hall. Remus followed, reciting every sex position he knew. It was victory every time Jan winced or said “Really, Remus?” Heck, it was a victory every time Jan looked in his direction. Momentary distraction was the peak of Remus’ social skills and all he could ever hope to achieve.

They passed Remus’ room—Remus made sure to make the door roar loudly and enjoyed Jan’s little jump—and came to the handle-less door. Jan carefully unlocked the flap and slid the spaghetti inside. As soon as it fell in, he slammed the flap shut and locked it again.

“Why do you do that?” Remus asked, summoning a bone and chewing on it.

“You know how dangerous he is.” Jan stood up and wiped off his gloves.

“No, I mean, why feed him? It’d be safer if you…let him be, right?”

Jan gave Remus a piercing look. “He’s a part of Thomas too, whether we like it or not. I’m self- preservation. I can’t just let him starve.” Jan marched back down the hallway. “Aladdin, was it?”

“Huh.” Remus tossed the bone at a wall and it cracked in two. “So how’s Roman different?”

Jan froze. “I…Because Roman has somewhere else to go. Aladdin, right? Let’s go, Remus.”

Remus spared a glance at the unmarked door and followed.

Aladdin was alright. Remus made a little ding sound every time Aladdin was shown shirtless. Janus hummed along to all the songs, though he bared his teeth when Remus pointed it out. Roman woke up briefly about halfway through, having been transplanted to a pile of cushions on the couch. Remus wondered if he would sing along. Instead he just hummed to himself and closed his eyes. For a second he nodded along to the music—no, no he was just nodding off, and okay he was asleep again.

When Aladdin ended, Remus put on The Shining. Janus took that as a cue to leave.

“Put Roman to bed,” Janus reminded him. “Well…he’s already asleep, but don’t let him stay on the couch all night.”

“He seems pretty chill,” Remus said, watching Roman’s bangs ruffle with each snore.

“Then do whatever you want.” Janus yawned. “This has been a thoroughly delightful day and I hate to end it, but my brain may explode if I have to continue thinking. Don’t burn anything down.”

“No promises!” Remus said. “Night, JanJan!”

“Sweet dreams, Remus.”

Yeah. Right.

Jan disappeared down the hallway, leaving Remus alone. It was the boring part of The Shining, so he fast-forwarded to the weird part. Roman didn’t wake up even when the screams started. Still, it was kind of nice to have company. Usually Remus spent his nights alone, bingeing horror flicks until his eyeballs were red. He didn’t really get tired, so it didn’t matter, and he did some of his best work at night.

It definitely wasn’t because of the nightmares.

Remus caught himself mid-thought. Lying would just alert JanJan. And it wasn’t Jan’s business. Yeah, maybe Remus missed Jan’s lullabies and being able to actually act on that promise that ‘My door is always open, Remus.’ Maybe it _would_ be nice if he _didn’t_ have grisly dreams of his friends dying every night. But Jan was busy these days. And Remus was _Intrusive Thoughts._ This was part of the deal. Remus was all the nasty stuff siphoned off of Roman to keep it away from Thomas. It was his _job._ And Remus loved his job! Just…not the side effects.

Remus turned up the volume until his eardrums rattled and he couldn’t hear himself think. Roman muttered something and turned over.

It was loud. Really loud. Remus barely noticed when someone appeared in the doorway.

He _did_ notice when the TV turned off.

“Hey!” Remus whirled. “Jan, what gives—”

It wasn’t Jan.

“Sorry,” Patton said, “but I’d like to talk to you.”

“Um.” Remus debated hollering for backup. “This isn’t the best time.”

“I know.” Patton stepped forward, wringing his hands. “Please? Just a minute?”

Remus shrugged, catapulted himself over the back of the couch, and bowed. “What can I help you with? You finally decided to murder that really annoying barista?”

“What? No!” Patton frowned. “Remus, murder is wrong!”

“Yeah, yeah, if you’re _boring._ ” Remus waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, what’s the scoop? Haven’t got all night.”

“Right.” Patton nodded. “Um, have you seen Roman?”

Remus choked on air. “Say what now?”

“ _Roman_ ,” Patton repeated. “Look, stuff—um, kind of got out of control today, so I was wondering—”

“Of course he’s here!” Remus laughed. “He’s a Dark Side now, PatPat! He’s asleep on the couch right now!”

There was a loud thump behind him.

“He’s asleep on the floor!” Remus winced. “Give me a sec?”

Patton nodded. Remus vaulted back over the couch and grabbed Roman’s sleeping form. “C’mon, bro, that _cannot_ be comfortable. I’m putting up with the couch thing ‘cause I’m lazy and like the company, but you’ll put a real crick in your neck down there. Come on, up you get. There we go.” He shoved Roman into the pillows, made sure he was secure, and popped back over the couch. “You were saying?”

Patton’s eyes were wide. “He’s…he’s a Dark Side?”

“Oh, don’t act so _pleased_ about it!” Remus folded his arms. “Thought you were trying to be nicer to us.”

“I am, I just—” Patton glanced at Roman, who was snoring on the couch. “I’m worried about him.”

“’Course you are! Join the club!” Remus grinned. “But he’s alright for now. We’ve got things under control!”

Patton didn’t look convinced. “Can you let me talk to him?” “He’s asleep.”

“When he wakes up?”

“He’ll probably fall right back asleep.”

“Well.” Patton nodded. “I’d like to talk to him at some point. Bring him Upstairs when you can.”

“Sure,” Remus said, gritting his teeth. “Upstairs. Soon.”

“Thanks,” Patton said, looking relieved. Remus noticed the skin around his eyes was red. “Um, tell Janus hi? And tell Roman…tell him I love him, alright?”

“Tell him yourself some other time.”

“I-I did.” Patton bit his lip. “He didn’t believe me.”

“Oh.” Remus clicked his tongue. “Gotcha. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,” Patton said again. “That means a lot.”

“Cool,” Remus said. “Are we…done here? ‘Cause I’ve got, like, things to do—”

“Right! Sorry!” Patton laughed. “I’ll get out of your hair!”

“Have fun,” Remus said, strolling to the couch. “Stay alive, don’t turn into a frog with abs again ‘cause that was weird even by my standards, and watch your step ‘cause your left foot is in a puddle of blood.”

Patton squeaked and stumbled backward. Remus laughed as he tried frantically to wipe off his shoes. Finally he just removed the shoe altogether, pinching it between two fingers and looking at it warily.

“Bye!” Remus said, hopping on top of the couch and waving.

“Bye!” Patton called back. “Oh, and Remus?”

Remus twisted his neck around like an owl. “Yeah?”

Patton didn’t even flinch. “I’m glad Roman has you. Good luck, kiddo.”

“Oh.” Remus tried not to cry. “Uh. Cool. Yeah.”

Patton gave him another smile and walked back down the hall.

Remus sank weakly into the couch, staring at the blank TV. His stomach was doing weird things. It was all bubbly and fizzy and light like he’d swallowed a sparkler. He hated it.

So he turned the TV back on. Roman slept through the night, Remus didn’t sleep at all, and despite all the blood and guts he filled his head with it, he couldn’t avoid the memory of Patton’s soft smile.


	4. Anything You Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, I've been juggling a lot of projects and for some reason I struggled with this part. Maybe because it turned out So Freaking Long. Seriously, I spent nearly four hours transcribing this monstrosity from my notebook. But I think I like it, especially the scenes in the Imagination--it was a chance to describe some fun settings. It was also a chance for Foreshadowing (tm) and Metaphors (tm), so a win-win.
> 
> Warnings: caps, knife mention, blood mention, some body horror, slightly NSFW jokes, falling (kind of), self-deprecation, symptoms of depression and dissociation, mentions and discussions of death, and general gross-out humor because it's Remus.
> 
> (This chapter is based on Medicine by STRFKR.)

_Never remember  
Your birthday  
Or anything you like  
Sorry, so helpless  
I’ll help you  
Any way you like  
Take your medicine,  
Take your medicine._

Thomas woke up at 7:30 in the morning. Remus was already there, munching on deodorant and talking through the benefits of climbing onto the supermarket roof. Thomas didn’t seem in the mood for petty trespassing and death, though. He just groaned, turned over, and went back to sleep.

Remus sent a few gruesome nightmares his way—petty, maybe, but come on—and sunk out. He’d done his best, and Thomas had gotten irritatingly good at ignoring him ever since that stupid video. Remus might as well strip naked and summon a demon for all the attention he got.

Hey, that was actually a pretty good idea. Remus made a mental note to try that next Thursday.

And it was fine, anyway. It was fine! Remus didn’t need Thomas to just give him attention. This was a challenge, and Remus liked challenges! Things got interesting when they were hard and rough.

Heh.

Remus checked on Roman—still passed out on the couch, alright then—and sashayed to the kitchen. Two bowls of cereal and a note sat on the table.

_Remus—I’m helping the Light Sides with the situation. I should be back by lunchtime, but there’s bread and cheese in the fridge. Make sure Roman eats. Don’t destroy anything. Don’t go into my room again. -J_

Remus stared at Jan’s neat golden cursive, crumpled up the note, popped it in his mouth, and swallowed it. Then he grabbed one bowl of cereal, summoned a squid and an opossum, dripped the squid ink and opossum blood into the milk, and slurped it up without a spoon.

“Bro!” Remus called, slamming the bowl down and licking his lips. “Breakfast time!”

Roman muttered something incomprehensible into the couch cushion.

“No takesie-backsies! Jan’s orders!” Remus marched the cereal over to Roman and set it on the coffee table. Roman weakly pulled himself upright, the blanket falling off his knees. Despite spending the night on a couch, his crown and costume was still intact, and his makeup wasn’t smudged at all.

Remus pointed at the bowl. “That. Eat it.”

Roman yawned.

“No sleep. Eat.” Remus was beginning to have a lot of sympathy for Jan. No wonder he wanted to escape being the parent all the time.

Slowly, Roman reached for the cereal and took a few bites. Then he let go of the spoon, sending it plummeting to the floor.

“Hey, no!” Remus chucked the spoon at Roman’s head. “That was not enough food!”

Roman made eye contact with Remus, grabbed the bowl of cereal, and dumped it over Remus’ head.

Milk dripped down Remus’ cheeks and face, cereal lodging itself in his hair. Roman blinked, and for a second, he looked almost smug.

Remus burst out laughing.

He collapsed to the ground, not bothering to wipe up the milk now pooling on the carpet, grabbing a few of the bits of cereal and chucking them at Roman. One smacked into Roman’s nose and stuck there. Roman licked it off with his tongue and swallowed it.

“Oh my god,” Remus wheezed, laughing harder. The milk was already drying on his face, caking his cheeks, and the cereal was clumped in his hair. “You bastard!”

Roman dodged another round of cereal projectiles, catching one in midair with his mouth. Then he spat the soggy cereal back at Remus.

“Okay, that’s it!” Remus snapped his fingers and a bucket of green paint fell onto Roman’s head. Roman wrinkled his nose as paint cascaded over his costume and dripped down his shoulders. His face and hair might have belonged to a swamp monster. The bucket sat neatly atop his head like a square hat.

“You just—” Remus splashed purple paint across Roman’s chest. “You just don’t even react.”

Roman reached up and rubbed at his nose. Paint dripped from his fingers. Unperturbed, Roman kept rubbing, smearing purple paint all over his face.

Remus couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Every time he’d managed to catch his breath, he saw Roman bedazzled in paint and lost it again.

Finally, Remus gave in and clicked his fingers. The paint and cereal flung off them, splattering on the opposite wall, where it immediately congealed. Roman watched with vague interest.

“You know,” Remus said, still cackling, “I think it’ll be fun having you around.”

The corner of Roman’s mouth lifted in what could maybe be a smile.

“Anyway,” Remus said, hopping over to the fridge and grabbing a few bananas. “Since you ruined your cereal, you gotta eat something else now. Do you like linguini?”

Roman shrugged. Remus tossed him a banana, sucking on another one thoughtfully as he pushed aside some expired yogurt. “We’ve got, um, cheese and two heads of lettuce? Usually Jan summons all the ingredients. Wait, the bread and cheese is for lunch. Never mind, we just have lettuce.”

Roman was nibbling at the banana, apparently deciding that peeling it was for losers. Remus shrugged and counted that as good enough. Still, he grabbed a head of lettuce just in case.

“Drinks?” Remus asked when he remembered that drinks existed. “Um, we’ve got wine that you’re not allowed to touch ‘cause it’s Jan’s, freaky fruity drinks that are also Jan’s, plain water, weird purple stuff, blood from the hearts of my enemies, sparkling water, Sunny D—”

Roman made a little noise and glanced at Remus.

“Sunny D?” Remus asked.

Roman shook his head.

“Blood from the hearts of my enemies?”

Roman shook his head again.

“Yeah, figured that would be a strong taste for you.” Remus bit his lip, mentally rewinding his words. “Sparkling water?”

Roman made little grabby hands, dropping the banana entirely.

“Well, okay then.” Remus grabbed a bottle of sparkling water, gnawed off the top so Roman wouldn’t have to open it himself, and handed it to Roman. Roman cupped it in both hands and took little sips, looking more peaceful than Remus had ever seen him.

“We’ve found something you like,” Remus said. “Cool.”

Roman continued to sip at the sparkling water as Remus plopped down onto the couch next to Roman, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“So what’s on the schedule?” Remus asked. “I’m assuming nap all day for you, right?”

Roman nodded. His little sips had already gotten him a quarter of the way through the bottle.

“I’d usually just hang out,” Remus said, “start a fire, kill an ostrich, summon Cthulhu from the depths of the ocean and pledge my soul to his cause, normal stuff. But I dunno, I feel like I should probably work on, y’know, fixing _this_ instead of fooling around in the Imagination.’

Roman shrugged.

Remus blinked and snapped his fingers. “The Imagination! Remus, you’re a genius! We can check on your side of the Imagination, Ro-Bro! It’s probably not doing so hot right now, so it’s the perfect time to destroy it utterly and subsume it into my kingdom.”

Roman spat sparkling water at Remus’ face.

“I’m joking,” Remus said, raising his hands in surrender. “Mostly. Anyway, don’t you wanna see what the Imagination looks like now? It’s gotta be wacko if your wardrobe is any indication. Maybe it’ll be more fun than usual.”

Roman shrugged again, yawning and letting his sparkling water drip over the side of the couch.

“Oh come on!” Remus waved his lettuce head at Roman. “No napping!”

Roman shook himself and grabbed Remus’ lettuce, taking a small bite.

“Hey!” Remus complained. “So _now_ you’re hungry?”

Roman pulled at the lettuce with his teeth.

“Hmph.” Remus crossed his arms and pouted. “Stop eating that. We need to leave. And yes, I know I was telling you to eat, but that got boring.”

Roman sunk into the couch cushions and stared at the lettuce. He’d stopped eating it, but was showing no desire to actually travel to the imagination, so a win-lose.

“Hey!” Remus said as he remembered. “Patton came by last night.”

Roman’s eyes widened and snapped up to Remus’ face.

“He says he’s worried,” Remus said, trying not to sound too contemptuous. It was…easier than he thought it would be. “Says he loves you.”

Roman huffed. It could have been a laugh, a sigh, a growl. Remus decided not to waste too much time decoding it. Roman’s feelings about Patton were Roman’s business. Remus would just continue with his baseline of ‘slightly resentful.’

Except—well, Patton seemed _different._ Still all cheery and boring and moral, but…he looked right at Remus now. Not through him, not away from him. He looked right into Remus’ eyes. Full attention. The kind of thing Remus barely ever received. And Remus hadn’t even been _trying_ —he’d been sleepy and grumpy, not grabbing for attention, and Patton had still looked into him and _listened._

That was freaky in a not-fun way, and Remus didn’t really know what to do with it.

“He’s worried,” Remus repeated hastily, trying to steer his thoughts out of the feelings volcano they were burning up in. “Wants to see you soon. I mean, we could probably let you see him now, if you wanted—”

“Imagination!” Roman burst out.

“What?”

“Imagination,” Roman repeated.

“You want to go to the Imagination? Now?” Remus shrugged. “I mean, suit yourself, but I figured you’d wanna talk to him—”

Roman grabbed Remus’ wrist and tugged them both off the couch.

“Well, okay.” Remus scrambled to his feet, and without further ado-doo, pulled Roman down the hallway to his room.

Remus didn’t actually spend much time in his room. It had a black rickety bed he never slept in, a closet full of clothes he never wore, and a few stuffed animals from when he was little. Remus snapped his fingers as they entered, banishing the stuffed animals, hiding them under a crinkly corner of reality. Roman didn’t seem to notice. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t judge the stuffed animals, but Remus didn’t want him to see the little plush snake and little fabric spider that were in the center, the place of honor. Roman would just think Remus was weird, and not the fun, creepy, homicidal weird. A pathetic weird.

Roman, Remus remembered, kept the door to the Imagination in his wardrobe. How mainstream. Remus kept his behind an intricate replica of the doors of the Bastille. Ooh, the French Revolution was good for inspiration. Those nutcases were wild. Them and the Romans—funny how Roman was all boring and square when the Ancient Romans had war ostriches.

Remus tugged the doors open. Immediately a loud roar echoed through his room.

“That’d be the dinosaurs,” Remus muttered. Hopefully he could keep it out of their way as they walked—he had a good amount of control over the Imagination, but it could still run wild at the worst possible moments. Plus Remus’ half and Roman’s were connected, so there was a lot of runoff. If Roman wanted a fight and summoned a bunch of monsters to take on, odds were, that would overpower any ‘not today Satan’ charms Remus had up and get _him_ in a fight as well. Annoying—but maybe not a problem anymore, if Roman was no longer stabbing dragons on his side of the Imagination.

What would the Imagination look like? Would it be completely scattered, all Roman’s ideas unbinding and flinging themselves every which way? Would it be the blank slate between ideas, a fresh canvas? Would nothing have changed at all?

Welp, only one way to find out.

Remus cheerfully tugged Roman into the Imagination and closed the door behind them.

Like usual, it was a dark and stormy night. The air smelled of bonfires and mildew. Ahead was a twisting path between trees, dark moss covering the tree roots and scum-green leaves blocking out the sky. Cold rain dripped from the branches and landed in the mud below. Sometimes a blast of lightning lit up the woods and Remus could see the silver mist clinging to the dark trunks. A few eerie green lights floated in the air. Occasionally, there was a loud scream, screech, squawk, or snap. Thunder rumbled in the distance, not separated into claps or booms, but an ominous never-ending drone.

Remus licked his lips, tasting salt, acid, and ozone.

A wonderful day out.

He bounced down the path, enjoying the squelch of the mud under his feet, seeing glittering red eyes between leaves and feeling the ground tilt and shift beneath him. A shadowy shape with more than two wings darted above him, claws glinting.

“Hello!” Remus called, waving.

He looked back to see if Roman was following. He was, but really slowly. Remus made a branch deck Roman in the head. Roman stumbled forward, wincing.

“I can hurt you in here,” Remus confided, tapping the side of his nose, “so you’d better bust that booty and get over here, mmkay?’

Roman grumbled louder than the thunder—look, he was vocalizing emotion, maybe the Imagination perked him up a bit—but followed Remus down the path. Remus jumped around discarded, rusty knives and kicked aside bones. The path wound around hollow tree trunks teeming with maggots and worms. Remus stuck his hand into one of them and grabbed a wiggly white larva, slurping it up like a noodle. Licking his fingers, he tramped through the mud and finally reached a set of signs.

From the little he remembered of Roman’s side—hey, give him a break, it all looked the same there—Roman had a lamppost here that always burned with a crimson fire. Typical. Remus had made a large signpost out of rotting wood, topped with a roughly carved octopus. The wooden suckers dripped black sludge over the signs, but even with some letters obscured, Remus could recite them from memory.

Four arrows to the left, ‘DRAGON WITCH LAIR,’ ‘QUICKSAND,’ ‘VOID,’ and ‘VOLCANO.’ Four arrows to the right, ‘CITY,’ ‘TOWER,’ ‘CASTLE,’ and ‘SHARK PIT.’ One arrow pointed diagonally and read ‘FOREST.’ Another pointed up, reading ‘STORM,’ and one pointe down, saying ‘MOLE KINGDOM.’ The one pointing back toward Remus simply said ‘OUT.’

Remus had never bothered to add directions to Roman’s side. He didn’t usually go there, and anyway, he knew it by heart. Go a little sideways, a lot diagonal, and a little sideways again, and he’d get there, a sparkly innocent land where Roman held the power and Remus couldn’t even sink out on his own.

A little sideways. Remus shuffled a few steps to the left. Roman followed.

A lot diagonal. Remus hopped over a fallen log that boasted a large variety of spotted orange mushrooms and led Roman off the paths, pausing only to whack branches and vines that might actually be snakes out of the way with his mace. Roman’s foot sunk into a particularly sticky, stinky, and slimy patch of mud. He struggled for a second before giving up and just standing there, staring at it. Remus took pity on Roman and vanished the mud. He did the same for the skeleton Roman didn’t react to, the eyeball tree Roman walked under without hesitation, and the eldritch demon that tried to possess Roman, who only stared at it in confusion. Usually, Remus would love having Roman visit—he’d play a million pranks on his brother and get Roman to wet his pants within ten minutes. Sadly, freaking out Roman Two Point _Oh My God Just Scream Once, I’m Begging You_ wasn’t easy, so nothing had the same appeal.

But Roman kept following, brushing through cobwebs and soupy smoke, so Remus gave him credit for that.

Remus could feel when they reached ‘a lot diagonal.’ The wind started blowing sideways and the crickets stopped chirping. The whole scene tingled with anticipation.

Remus oh-so-carefully stepped three steps to the left.

And the scene changed.

The storm was gone. The forest was gone. The muddy earth hardened beneath Remus’ feet and the musky stormy smell was whisked away by blank, chilly air.

Remus stood on a stone platform, a few crumbling crenellations around the edges, looking over a vast ocean. The waters churned, waves striking at the bottom of the small stone tower, sending foam crashing into the air.

Remus stepped forward, leaning over the edge and staring down at the sea. He’d never seen anything like this. Yeah, sometimes Roman pulled out a mermaid adventure and made himself a little ocean. But it was always bright blue and shimmery and calm. Not this ugly shade of dark blue-violet, frothing in a nonexistent wind, pounding relentlessly at the stones.

“Roman,” Remus said slowly, “what the f*ck.”

He turned to see Roman standing in the middle of the parapet, hugging himself, wind whipping his hair around. Where the heck was this wind coming from? Remus couldn’t feel it at all.

Roman struggled to walk over to Remus, his sash flapping and his face screwed up. Finally he stumbled into a crenellation and leaned on it, staring out to sea.

Remus looked back over the water. It wasn’t entirely ocean, he realized. A few crumpled stone structures poked up nearby, nothing more than stepping stones. The sky was a rich black, tinged with red and gold at the edges, like a dying fire.

“Is this…it?” Remus glanced at Roman, who was still fighting a wind that Remus couldn’t feel. “This is what’s left?”

Roman opened his mouth. The words were ripped from him by a wind Remus couldn’t hear.

Remus ran his hands over the stone. It chipped away between his fingers, collapsing into dust. All the little islands were made of the same grey stone.

Wait.

Remus looked down at his feet. At the crenellations. At the other little towers and parapets, poking up from the waves.

“It’s flooded,” Remus realized. “Your castle’s underwater.”

Roman nodded.

“But—there were, you know, _people._ ” Remus spun around, scanning the horizon for any sign of life. “Like, all these creatures! And the stupid NPCs you made! Where’d they go?”

Roman pointed at the ocean.

“They’re under there?” Remus stared at the murky waters. “Like…they’re alive? Or they’re dead? Or they’re just gone?”

Roman shrugged.

Well—only one way to find out, which at this point was becoming Remus’ motto.

Remus gave Roman a salute, kicked off the edge of the parapet, and cannonballed into the water.

For a moment, there were bubbled and currents, tugging Remus in every direction. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the waves rip him apart.

Then he sunk lower and the currents eased up, spitting him out into calm, heavy water. Remus opened his eyes to see stillness. Above him, the surface raged, but down here it was quiet.

He could see the whole castle now. He was floating by one of the tallest towers, nestled in the center, now covered in algae and dulled by water. Other towers and parapets poked at the surface, some with great chunks knocked out of them. A few had collapsed altogether. Below him was the castle itself, all the windows gone. Remus kicked at the water and doggy-paddled his way to the nearest window, slipping inside.

All the carpeting was gone. All the egotistical paintings of Roman’s stupid face were gone. All the doors and windows were gone. All the furniture was gone. It was the stranded carapace of a beetle, a shell left behind by a hermit crab that found a new home. Water filled every nook and cranny. In the dim bluish light, the stones seemed slimy and ancient and ready to fall apart.

There was nobody here. There weren’t even any sea creatures—Remus had hoped for coral, or fishes, or octopi or squid or sharks, because the ocean had some really freaky specimens—but apart from dark green algae, it was sterile as a tomb. Nothing moved but a few leftover, faded banners with Roman’s insignia, weakly undulating with the tides.

Remus swam through the main hallways, taking big gulps of water and enjoying the sting. His hands and fingers were already pruning up. But the water was pleasant enough, if a little chilly, and it felt nice across his cheeks, all four of them.

He was in the entrance hall now. this was where Roman dined with make-believe people, sat on a cardboard throne, and soaked up fake praise. Roman would spend weeks in the Imagination sometimes—Remus could feel his presence even when they never interacted. Roman was a dreamer at heart. He created other worlds where things just made more sense, immersed himself within them, and got frustrated when reality paled in comparison. Sometimes he would conjure up the Sides and have fights with them, hug them, take them on adventures. Remus usually attributed that as the reason his relationships with the real Sides were always strained. Roman had trouble telling the difference between dreams and reality, fake affection and real love, the words they really said to him and the words he told himself in their voices.

The others could have tried harder, of course. Logan could have cooled it with the deadlines. Virgil could have cut out the nicknames, Patton could have reassured Roman instead of guilting him, Janus could have avoided the flattery that just plummeted Roman to even greater depths. It wouldn’t have fixed things, Remus did admit that, but it would have helped.

Still, who was he to judge? He heard Roman’s thoughts, felt Roman’s anger and pain and guilt, and just knocked him out with a Morningstar instead of confronting the problem. Remus wasn’t very good at the talky-talky and he’d probably have just made things worse. But what if he’d _tried?_ Just once? Would he be leaning on the side of Roman’s throne, dragons roaring outside, Roman laughing and smiling and doing all his usual stupid annoying _Roman_ things? Instead of swimming through the front doors, silence pressing on his ears, floating and out-of-place.

Outside, past the crumbling stairs that rivaled the ones from Cinderella—Roman always cheated and teleported to the top, Remus saw—the courtyard and the town itself was silent, crystal clear even through layers of water. Remus drifted down the stairs, hair rippling around his face. The water was getting chillier now, leaking into Remus’ bones and making it harder to swim.

All the shops had no doors or windows, either. They sat blindly along the road, signs shifting in the current. The cobblestone road wound through, complete with soaked, ethereal trees. But there was no noise, no movement, no people. Remus always found Roman’s side cloying, filled with the smell of spice and the clamor of voices and shops torn from the background of Beauty and the Beast. But this—it wasn’t terrible, but it was terribly and achingly _wrong_ , dead and sterile and empty, suffocating beneath the ocean.

How did it end up like this? It was sudden, a flood covering the land, but there must have been a storm or a broken dam or some sign before it happened. Should Remus have seen it coming? Should Patton, Logan, Virgil, Jan? Could they have done something differently if they turned back the clock, could they have chosen a different ending and kept Roman’s life above water?

Well. Hindsight was 20-20, and there were a million ways it could have gone. This was what they got, and all Remus could do was work with the broken pieces.

Could Remus fix this?

He wanted to say yes. But he wasn’t the guy who fixed things. He was the guy who broke things, destroyed things, tore things up. He was the guy who ruined things, shattered things, hurt things. He was the evil twin. He couldn’t fix this. He’d never done something right in his life, how could he start now?

He had to try, though, didn’t he? He had to try. He had to fix this, because who else would? He had to make things right. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Probably it wouldn’t work. But there was only one way to find out. There was nowhere to go but up.

Remus shook off the cold clinging to his skin, clammy and dangerous and telling him he could just sink to the seafloor and stay here forever, floating like debris, flotsam and jetsam tossed around far beneath the waves. He kicked upwards—it was hard, harder than he should be, but not impossible. The cold leaked from his body as he swam upwards and approached the surface.

He broke through. Warmth crowded his lungs and filled his bones. He splashed around and got his bearings. He was somewhat far away from the tower but he could still see Roman on top, brown hair whipped by the wind, sash bright red against the dark sky.

Remus tried to swim over and was buffeted by a series of swells. The water was so choppy, peaking and cresting and bundling itself into valleys and waves that tossed Remus around like a penguin in a washing machine. He spat out a mouthful of water, leaned back, and pulled his feet up to the surface, floating in a starfish position. Dead Man’s Float, the best name ever. Staring up at the black velvety sky.

Then he closed his eyes and painfully yanked at the fabric of reality.

It was hard, harder than it should be, just like everything here, just like swimming and moving and existing. Even though Remus’ powers were already limited in Roman’s side, this felt less like creating and more like pushing, dirty and ugly and forced. Ripping a hole in what was there, scrounging up little bits of imagination, and wrangling them into something meaningful.

But Remus kept tugging, and wings burst out of his back, long and gnarled with bat-like claws and twisted skin. They bent strangely, but when he lifted them out of the water and flapped, they carried him alright. Remus flew higher, feet skimming over the crests of the waves, still not feeling the wild winds that churned up the water below but eyes watering from the wind of his own wings. He soared toward the tower and tried to maneuver a graceful landing away from Roman.

But Roman didn’t move out of the way in time, and Remus wasn’t very good at the stopping part of flying, so long story short, he ended up on the ground with Roman’s elbow in his stomach and his foot lodged in Roman’s side. Roman groaned and weakly batted at Remus, who rolled off him and jumped to his feet, wings still unfurled. He was soaking wet, he realized, hair plastered to his forehead and frills dripping.

“That was something,” Remus said, wiping at his costume. “You reenacting Atlantis or something? We’d better fetch an ark, the whole world’s underwater.”

Roman mouthed something. The words were either carried away by wind or didn’t bother to make themselves exist at all.

“Come again?” Remus asked. Heh. That’s what she said.

Roman mimed two legs walking and crushed them with his other hand. Then he opened both hands and grasped at air.

“Huh?”

Roman made a ‘poof’ gesture.

“Wha?” Remus tapped his chin. If Roman was still Creativity, he’d have a general sense of Roman’s emotions to go on, some sweet twin-tuition. “Oh! You’re asking if everyone’s gone?”

Roman gave him a ‘duh’ look.

“Look, I’m not good with hand gestures! At least not those kinds of gestures. I’m familiar with other things you can do with your hands.” Remus gyrated his hips and waggled his eyebrows. “But yeah, pretty sure everyone’s dead. Bummer.”

Roman winced.

“I mean, it sucks, yeah, but I can’t say I really liked like any of your people. They were all so boring and you never really utilized their full potential, y’know?” Remus was rambling now, filling the scratchy silence with words he didn’t even think about, _knowing_ he was probably making everything worse but like what did Roman expect, comforting words and a hug? This was _Remus._

“Like, that guy who ran the bookshop? He’d be a really good zombie in an apocalypse storyline. But you _always_ go for fantasy! I don’t know why you’ve got such a fairytale kink, but it gets old. The only creation of yours that wasn’t totally basic was the Dragon Witch—”

Remus froze, the words trailing off and hitting the stone with a thud.

“She’s gone,” Remus said quietly, “isn’t she?”

He didn’t need an answer. He just knew. The Dragon Witch, with her sass and swearing and purple pointy hat, who was a good fight and an even better recipient of any rants Remus needed to get out of his head before he exploded. She was smart and saucy and a villain with flair. Remus didn’t know how he’d spend his afternoons without the Dragon With trying to curse him into a fly.

But despite her own insistence that “The Border is for plebeians, dear, I go where I like.” Despite her unique capability to be best friends and worst enemies with both the twins at once. Despite her blatant disregard for the Imagination’s rules, showing up when Remus least expected it. Despite all that, she was still _Roman’s_ creation.

That was why she was so, well, awesome. Roman’s stuff might be cliché, but it was vivid and vivacious and bursting with personality. Remus could never hope to create something—some _one_ —like the Dragon Witch. He didn’t have enough heart.

And now she was gone. Just like that.

And Remus _knew_ she wasn’t real, _knew_ it was stupid to get attached to a figment of the Imagination, _knew_ his whole gig was not giving a sh*t and he really, really shouldn’t give a sh*t.

But. But it still stung like Remus had swallowed a nest of bees. It ached and crawled and peeled away his insides, all molten and red and painful.

Roman was leaning over the water now, one hand out. Remus watched a small globe of water rise from the surface and begin to take shape. It stretched, forming a dress, a long sweep of hair, and Roman’s hand was shaking but the water smoothed into arms and hands and a set of dragon wings.

Then Roman stumbled, and the water collapsed with a splash. Remus watched Roman catch himself on the crenellations, breathing hard. Remus watched the ripples disappear.

“Sorry,” Roman whispered.

“It’s fine!” Remus grinned. “Never—never liked her anyway. She’s a real b*tch.”

Roman stared into the water and extended his hand again. This time, the water barely bubbled.

“Enough of that,” Remus ordered. “You’ll knock yourself out. This is barely your territory anymore—it’s barely mine either—and you’re not getting her back. Not right now. Just get us out of here, okay?”

Roman nodded slowly. Remus grabbed Roman’s hand and waited somewhat patiently as Roman closed his eyes. The scene wrenched sideways, and both of them fell onto Remus’ bed.

Remus snapped his fingers and dried himself, yanking the wings out of existence. He breathed a sigh of relief at the easiness. One part of his brain—the irrational, intrusive, annoying little thot of a brain—still insisted that he’d left his creativity there and that he’d lost his powers for good. Remus summoned an octopus, a cheese grater, a stick of deodorant, and every creation was simple and sweet and perfect.

“Nice,” Remus said, tossing himself off the bed and landing in a beanbag chair that looked like a bloodshot eyeball. “It’s my brainstorming spot! And since you’re not gonna be providing Thomas with those family-friendly ideas like usual, I’m assuming I’ll have to step in.”

Roman nodded, already curled up in Remus’ sheets and half-asleep.

“Hey, no! I’m gonna need your help!” Remus paused. “Will I? I dunno, but two heads are better than one, right?”

He was greeted with light snoring.

“Okay then.” Remus summoned a barf-green notebook and a pen filled with octopus ink. He could do this on his own. How hard could it be?

Very hard, he’d learned after an hour of scribbling, the handwriting getting progressively worse and half the pages still empty. He’d spent the first twenty minutes trying to think of an idea in the first place, wondering What Would Roman-Who-Was-Creativity-And-Not-Asleep-In-Remus’-Bed Do? Even when he finally found an idea that wasn’t entirely R-rated, there was still the problem of coaxing that idea into a full-grown video. Like deepening a small cut so the person would die of blood loss. Planning out a real video required precision and scheduling and order, and Remus wanted to tear his hair out. This was so _hard!_ How did Roman focus on this stuff? Words on a page were just words on a page, and everything was one big mushy vision that he wasn’t sure even existed to begin with.

Well, Roman always had the others to help, right? Logan did a lot of the planning for videos. Maybe Remus should ask Logan for help—

Did he really just think that? Logan _hated_ him! Which was fair, because of the whole throwing star thing, but still! Logan was even more boring than Roman. And Logan didn’t _like_ Roman, the _good_ twin, so why would he tolerate Remus, Roman’s malevolent carbon copy?

This idea wasn’t coming together on its own, though. Maybe Remus could just drop it off and let Logan whip it into shape. He wouldn’t even have to say hello.

(Who was Remus kidding? Of course he’d say hello. Probably more than that. Logan was a challenge and that made it all the more satisfying when Remus snatched a little nugget of attention.)

And the really, really optimistic part of Remus, the one he spent most of his time trying to crush, wondered if Logan would…maybe…not hate him? Patton had been nice, right? For some reason. So maybe Logan would—

Eh. Bullsh*t. Logan and Patton were less alike than a juice box and a butthole. If Patton was nice to Remus, that probably made it less likely that Logan would be nice, too. Remus didn’t even know if Logan was _capable_ of being nice. Didn’t compassion fall into the giant realm of Feelings Logan Avoided?

Remus glanced at Roman, at his notebook, at the door to the Imagination.

What the heck. Worth a shot.

Before Remus could talk himself out of it, he popped up in Logan’s room. “You decent?”

Logan gave a satisfying yelp and slammed a hand over the piece of paper he’d been scribbling on. He was crouched over his desk, surrounded by a sea of discarded papers. A few small islands of empty coffee mugs poked up between the stacks. A half-eaten sandwich on a plate was pushed to the corner of the desk, already smelling wonderfully rotten.

Logan, for his part, was wearing an oversized grey sweatshirt. His hair stuck up in every direction and there were bags under his eyes.

“Jesus Christ Superstar,” Remus exclaimed. “I don’t remember you looking like that. Thought the tie was glued around your neck.”

“Please leave, Remus.” Logan returned to writing, one arm hiding the contents from Remus. “I’m busy.”

“This is important,” Remus whined. “C’mon, dork, give me a shot here.”

Logan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a motion that reminded Remus, reassuringly, of Jan. “What.”

Remus tossed the notebook onto Logan’s desk. It plopped on top of Logan’s work and knocked over a mug that declared Logan a #1 Mom.

“What is this?” Logan asked, picking up the notebook between two fingers.

“Idea!”

“What?”

“Video idea!” Remus sat on Logan’s bed, which was unmade and covered in books. “Figured you’d need one eventually. I’m no Roman, but I did my best.”

“Remus.” Logan turned the notebook over in his hands. “I…Remus, you didn’t have to—”

“Well, Roman wasn’t gonna.”

Logan flinched. “I meant that Thomas won’t need another video idea for the foreseeable future. He is doing well financially, has several ideas lined up, and is currently running a temperature of 100.2 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Oh.” Remus tried not to deflate. “I-I can do something else, then—whatever you guys need!”

“It’s quite alright, Remus.” Logan opened the notebook and skimmed the first few pages. “I…I truly do appreciate the gesture, however, and I can certainly make use of this idea.”

“Really?” Remus beamed. “You like it?”

“I don’t know, I find myself unable to read it.” Logan blinked blearily at the pages. “I am not sure whether it is sleep deprivation or your frankly abysmal handwriting that renders this illegible, but I feel I would have better luck decoding Egyptian hieroglyphs.”

“It’s probably both,” Remus said. “Plus I—I dunno—I have trouble writing things down. It never comes out right. Everything sounds better in my head.”

Logan nodded. “That is understandable. Roman is much the same way. He prefers to talk through ideas rather than write them down, as the flow of conversation is easier for him than the stagnant nature of pen and paper.”

“No way.” So Roman wasn’t perfect, either.

“I can do the same with you,” Logan said, glancing at Remus. “If you think you would benefit from it.”

Remus suppressed a squeal of delight. “Sounds awesome!”

The corner of Logan’s mouth quirked in a smile.

So Remus found himself sitting criss-cross-tartar sauce on Logan’s bed, with Logan sitting in his oversized sweatshirt and writing down everything Remus said, occasionally prodding him in a different direction or asking questions about a specific aspect. And once in a while Logan yawned or let the pen skid across the page, but he always apologized and said it wasn’t Remus’ fault and kept hanging on to Remus’ every word.

It was surreal. Remus might have thought it was a dream, but he never fell asleep anymore, and he pulled his head off his body and stuck it back on without any trouble, so this was really happening. Somehow. Logan, _Logic,_ was listening dutifully to Intrusive Thoughts. Taking notes. Asking questions. Eyes bright with excitement behind his glasses.

What had Remus done to deserve _this?_

He wished it could go on forever. But eventually he ran out of steam and petered off. Logan snapped shut his own black notebook and nodded. “That will do, Remus. Thank you for your time and assistance.”

“No problemo, Nerd-o!” Remus gave Logan finger guns and tried very hard not to cry and/or dance at being thanked. “Back atcha! But I have important things to dismember, so unfortunately I have to go.”

Logan’s face visibly crumpled. “Oh.”

“Why do you need me around?” Remus asked, frowning. “Why can’t one of your Care Bears help you out?”

“I—” Logan stared at the door, running his hands through his hair. “Things are…tense. I have been doing my utmost to avoid confrontation.”

“Seriously? Thought you were all high-and-mighty and fearless or some such.”

“Apparently not,” Logan snapped.

“Okay, sorry, touched a nerve!” Remus grinned. “But I can keep you company if you want! Maybe serenade you? You like Disney villain songs, ‘cause I’ve been watching Tangled and--”

Logan sighed. “Please do not, Rom--”

And he stopped himself, but the damage was done.

Logan turned around in his chair and read over the piece of paper he’d left behind. “I apologize for keeping you, Remus. Farewell.”

“Hey, what are you working on?” Remus stretched out his neck like a giraffe and peeked over Logan’s shoulder. “What’re all these—”

Logan tried to cover the papers. “Nothing!”

“Oh really?” Remus grabbed a few papers with his teeth, shrinking his neck to its normal length and hopping up to the ceiling so he stuck there like Spiderman, hair dangling and mustache flopping upside down. Logan jumped up from the chair and ran towards him, but Remus was out of his reach.

_Dear Patton, I forgive you for ignoring me, as long as it doesn’t happen again. I know your area of expertise is feelings and you understand them better than I ever will, so I appreciate…_

The sentence trailed off and the rest of the paper was empty.

Remus crumpled up the letter to Patton and tossed it at Logan, who swatted at it. Remus turned back to the letters—because that’s what they were, all of them.

_Dear Virgil, you are not a bad person. I should have comforted you after you told Thomas of your past, but rest assured he does not view you any differently. Nor do I. I also know that you and Janus—_

The rest of the sentence was crossed out, but Remus made out the word ‘forgive.’

_Dear Janus,_ said the next letter, _I am ~~happy~~ pleased that you have been accepted. ~~Despite my misgivings that you will replace me~~ , I think you will do a good job. You are charming, intelligent, and handle my ~~friends~~ coworkers better than I. I wish you luck and ~~understand why you are to replace me~~ —_

The final page was just the beginning of a letter, written over and over again.

_Dear Roman, this is Logan._

_Dear Roman, I hope you are well._

_Dear Roman, I cannot begin to understand what you are going through._

_Dear Roman, I don’t know what you are._

_Dear Roman, I don’t know._

_Dear Roman, I am scared for you._

_Dear Roman, I am trying to fix this._

_Dear Roman, I know I can’t fix this._

_Dear Roman, I know this is my fault._

_Dear Roman, I know that you hate me._

_Dear Roman, I have never hated you._

_Dear Roman, I’m sorry._

_Dear Roman—_

“Logan?” Remus asked slowly. “What’s this?”

Logan finally snatched the papers from Remus’ grasp by standing on his desk. “That is none of your business.”

“Alright then.” Remus eyed the sea of discarded papers around the desk. “I…it isn’t. I know. So…bye.”

“Wait.” Logan placed the letters on his desk. “I—tell Roman—”

Remus waited for him to continue.

“Tell Roman I’m sorry,” Logan finally said, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Please?”

And Remus could have said, _you should be._ Could have said, _too late for that._ Could have said, _you can’t fix this._ Could have said, _this is all your fault._

But Logan looked so small, not powerful or purposeful or logical at all, swimming in an old sweatshirt, surrounded by letters he’d spent the night working on.

It wasn’t Logan’s fault any more than it was Patton’s or Virgil’s or Jan’s.

Any more than it was Remus’.

“Sure thing, I’ll tell him.” Remus barely bothered with a thin veneer of uncaring glee. “And, y’know, maybe you’re like Roman and me. You have trouble writing things down. So maybe just try talking it out.”

Logan opened his mouth and closed it again, looking more lost and human than Remus had ever seen him.

Ugh, he was getting diabetes from this sh*t, and although it might be fun to lose a leg or two, he had places to be and people to murder. Remus tore off his hand, waved it cheerfully in the air, and sank out, leaving behind only bloodstains on Logan’s bed.

He took the stinky old sandwich with him, though. Logan wasn’t gonna eat it, and Remus could think of several uses for that thing. And besides. Logan owed him one.

Well, actually, no he didn’t. Remus had given Logan an idea and some advice and a promise to deliver Roman that message. Logan had given Remus attention and respect and a thank-you. And now, a sandwich. So Remus actually owed Logan one.

_Dear Roman, I know I can’t fix this._

Remus would keep taking care of Roman. He’d try to fix Roman, make Roman better. And maybe that would be good enough for now.


	5. Relentless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look, I'm alive! Sorry for the late chapter. Once again, it ran away from me and somehow turned out super long. I'm also running out of ways to make a conversation between two people, one of whom can't talk, any shade of interesting. But things are heating up now and I'm having a lot of fun with this! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Warnings: vomit mention, descriptive death mentions, sexual innuendos, censored potty language, self-deprecation, going nonverbal, arguing, some false ideas about depression (that will be corrected later on), depression symptoms, mild body horror, caps. Remus being Remus, as always.

_Raven, can you hear me?  
Thought you loved me but you fooled me  
You drove me to madness  
No one here to witness  
Vicious and relentless,  
A villain in a black dress  
Too late, I should have listened.  
You want me to be alone  
Remind me of what is gone  
Singing from dusk 'til dawn  
Nevermore, nevermore, nevermore...  
Tell me that I'm not lost.  
Oh Raven, won't you sing me a happy song?  
_

Remus was really, truly, obscenely tired.

Not in the usual “got no sleep because of nightmares” way, though. Mentally tired. Emotionally tired. Like his brain had collapsed and his bones had crumbled and his muscles had atrophied.

It made sense. He’d had a long day. Only yesterday Roman fell through the ceiling, and now today he’d visited the Imagination, brainstormed new ideas, and talked to Logan. Plus babysitting Roman was hard. Remus wasn’t used to being the one with common sense. Thinking? Bleh. Stringing sentences together? Ick. Enforcing self-care? Ugh. Dealing with feelings? Enough to make Remus long for the safety of a skull-encrusted cave and the security of bludgeoning monsters with his morningstar.

Jan would probably tell Remus to take a nap. Or color in his favorite coloring book with the drawings of dissected frogs. Or crush the organs of some rats until blood and guts dripped down his fingers. But JanJan wasn’t here—he hadn’t even stopped by for lunch. Remus had to force Roman to eat old bread and cheese all by himself.

So instead of resting, Remus chugged two cans of energy drink, one cup of coffee, and sliced a few snakes into little bits until the buzz of caffeine and murder made him feel alive again. He’d be running on fumes all afternoon, but at least he’d be running at all. He still had Roman to look after.

Remus had to admit, he was starting to see Jan’s point about making Roman leave. Looking after Roman was, to be honest about it, a freaking nightmare. Even though Roman was way chiller this way. He couldn’t imagine taking care of Roman forever, and he could imagine a lot of things. But hey, practice made perfect, right? And if he fixed Roman soon, it wouldn’t be a problem. Right?

He wasn’t really sure how to fix Roman. Maybe he needed a hard reset? Like a computer! Remus could kick him in the side or bang him against the wall until he worked right again. Or just kill him. If Remus found a way to kill Roman for good, maybe Roman would regenerate somehow, good as new. Maybe a whole new Creativity would be created, one that was less apathetic and pathetic and generally gloomy, but also was maybe less of a stick-in-the-mud when it came to fun pastimes like murder and public indecency and demonic possession. A new Creativity, a fresh start, a better brother.

Remus didn’t know why that thought made him feel so gross inside. That was all he’d ever _wanted._ For years. He’d _hated_ the old Roman. Why was he so intent on getting him back? For the other Sides? Since when had Remus given a rat’s ass about the other Sides?

It had changed, though. Or he’d changed. Or they’d changed. And Remus didn’t like it. Change was icky and sticky and messed stuff up quick-y. The last time everything changed was when Virgil left. And now Roman was different but not better, some sad sack asleep on the couch.

Ugh. Why’d he agreed to do this, again? Why had he _wanted_ to hang out with his bro 24-7? Why hadn’t he dumped Roman Upstairs or bashed his brains out or left him to be eaten by wolves?

Too many questions. Too many thoughts, bumping about in his brain like a hive of bees having simultaneous strokes, pumped up on caffeine and pulled apart into strands by the exhaustion that still thrummed under his stolen energy.

Why did he want to fix Roman? That was the question. No, it wasn’t, though.

Why did he care?

There it was. There was the crux of the issue. Despite a lifetime of not giving a panda’s patootie, despite _knowing_ that caring about people only made it hurt more when they left, Remus still cared about his ridiculous twin brother.

His brother.

Roman wasn’t even his brother! Not really. They’d just been torn from the same brain and molded with the same purpose. Like, they were all Thomas, so the distinction hardly mattered.

Roman called Remus his brother, though. Remus did the same. Yeah, they hated each other’s guts, but they always kept that little bit of connection safe. They were always—well, they always treated each other like family.

Dysfunctional, estranged, resentment-fueled family. But family nonetheless.

What did that mean? Did it mean anything at all? Or was Roman just grasping at excuses for why he felt anything but contempt for Roman?

He wished Jan was here. Jan was good with dilemmas. Remus could rant about everything and Jan would what he said—and what he didn’t say—into something coherent. That was Jan’s greatest talent: finding method in Remus’ madness, pulling something out of nothing, spinning straw into gold the color of his eye.

Jan would probably tell Remus it was self-preservation. Jan always said things just came down to self-preservation. He was a little cynical that way. And maybe it _was_ self-preservation, a little niggling feeling in the back of Remus’ mind that remembered when they were only one person. To protect Roman was to protect himself. Remus was just looking out for himself and his needs, and Roman being all moody-b-moans was interfering with his own life.

Or maybe it was for Thomas’ sake. Maybe Remus had the drive to protect Roman because Roman was a part of Thomas. But that was more of a Jan thing—Remus never felt bad when he hurt another Side, even though it did sometimes affect Thomas. Heck, he hurt _Thomas_ all the time as part of his _job._

And the first idea didn’t really ring true, either. Yeah, Remus started out as half of a whole. But he was Remus now. His own desires, his own body, his own weird and wild and wonderful mind. Yeah, sometimes he had little flashes of twin-tuition and little moments when he blurted something out that definitely wasn’t his thought. But those incidents had been sliced down to zero ever since Roman pulled a Darth Vader and gave in to the Dark Side. For all intents and porpoises, Roman was no longer Creativity. All connection to Remus was severed. Remus only understood Roman as well as any other Side, aka not very much at all.

Still, despite the achingly empty space where Roman used to be in Remus’ mind—quantum entanglement, Logan called it once, particles that could go millions of miles and still be connected. Remus preferred conjoined twins, with thoughts melded instead of bodies, never fully separate to begin with—despite the phantom pains in the little hole where Roman used to fit, Remus still cared about the Roman he’d been left with. The gray, boring, always-asleep Apathy, who beneath it all was Roman and yet, undeniably, _wasn’t._ Remus still cared. Which brought him right back to square one.

Remus sighed and rubbed his eyes. His brain was starting to itch and hurt in some not-nice ways. Forget the _why,_ then. He should have known not to focus on the why. There was no rhyme or reason to what Remus did, he just _did._ And if what he _did_ was start caring about Roman for some inexplicable reason, it was probably best to take that in stride. He couldn’t really do anything about the situation. Instead of worrying about icky complicated emotions, he should be worrying about how to get Roman back to normal. If he fixed the problem, he didn’t even have to understand everything at play. It would be over and done with and he’d have a laugh with Jan about it over plastic wine glasses filled with Gatorade.

Easier said than done, though. How was _he_ supposed to fix this? He wasn’t the fixing guy. He destroyed stuff. Obliterated it. Ruined it forever. It should be Jan, who was self-preservation and smart and knew all sorts of nasty secrets. Or Logan, who was smart and nerdy and probably had books about what to do. Patton was all nice and sugar-sweet and _powerful_ , more powerful than even Jan. Even—even Virgil was sneaky and relentless and viciously protective.

They’d all do a better job of saving Roman than the embodiment of Intrusive Thoughts himself, the cracked and crazed little weed plucked from the garden to stop infecting it. Remus was the last one anybody would choose to be a hero. _Roman_ was the knight in shining armor who rescued damsels and dudes in distress. That was how the story went, Roman good Remus bad, Roman light Remus dark, Roman hero on a dappled white horse, Remus villain with a dark cloak and a bitter laugh. And that was fine. It was just the way things were.

Now someone had flipped the script on them. And Remus was playing a new part. Was he the sidekick now? The wise mentor? The hero or the antihero? Just a side character forgotten about as soon as the credits rolled?

Was he still the villain, just deceiving himself?

Heh. Deceiving himself. Jan would be able to tell if he was. But Jan was Upstairs with the Lights, probably sipping tea and talking morals, finally realizing that Remus was just too weird and ridiculous and insensitive and _bad_ to be worth hanging around—

Remus shook himself. Stop that, brain! It was fine. Everything was a-okay! Jan would be back soon and everything would be fine.

His traitorous brain decided he still needed to imagine Jan leaving, packing up in the middle of the night like Virgil had, his door melting into the wall and leaving only Remus’ behind.

Was Roman’s door still Upstairs? Was his room gone, like Virgil’s? Did Patton and Logan and Virgil wince when they passed where it used to be, a little jab of salt in a barely-healed wound?

It was their fault Roman was here. At least indirectly. And…and it was Remus’ fault that Virgil left, Remus’ and Jan’s and Virgil’s own. That didn’t mean he didn’t care. That didn’t mean he wanted Virgil gone. Remus would kill to have Virgil back, even after everything.

Roman had left the Light Sides, too. Without saying goodbye. Was that fair of him?

Was it…was it kind of _Roman’s_ fault, too?

Or was it nobody’s fault? Or everybody’s? Did it even matter? Was it just something that happened and couldn’t be changed? Was this the way it was always meant to go?

Was there any way to fix this? Should Remus even try? Were some things not capable of getting better?

No. Nuh-uh, negative, no way. Come on! Since when did Remus become so pessimistic? He didn’t care about things like convention or probability or capability or legality! He just did whatever he wanted.

So what was he going to do?

Well, right now he was pacing around the living room and muttering to himself as he sorted through a million layers of issues. Roman was drooling on the couch, hair a mess and sash wrinkled. And Jan was gonna be upstairs until dinner at the latest.

“Roman,” Remus yelled into Roman’s ear.

Roman swatted weakly at him, managing to clip Remus squarely in the nose. Remus winced and grabbed Roman’s hand to prevent any more half-asleep violence.

“Get up.” Remus yanked on Roman’s cape, which he’d curled around himself again. “Come on.”

“Why.” Roman didn’t even wait for an answer. He buried his face in the cushions and began to snore again.

“Because—” Because he wanted to fix Roman but had no idea how. Because having someone else around, even someone who barely talked, helped fend off the stifling desperation crawling up his throat. Because he still couldn’t stop thinking that Roman would drop dead when his back was turned.

“Because I’m bored, turdwafer.”

Roman did not respond.

Remus summoned a knife and drove it into Roman’s back. It made a satisfying squelch, but there was no blood, no spasm of pain. Remus pulled it out and it was clean as a whistle.

“That means you’re fully cooked,” Remus said, tossing the knife into thin air. “Works for Jan’s muffins. You’re done now, so up and at ‘em. You’ve slept for hours already.”

Roman made a soft groan of complaint as Remus levered him off the couch, dragged him to his feet, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Roman yawned and looked at Remus reproachfully, but he didn’t go back to sleep.

Great. Now what?

He wanted to fix Roman, right? So he should probably evaluate the problem first. Be all scientific about it like Nerdy Wolverine.

“Reaction time?” Remus asked.

Roman blinked at him.

“We’ll have to test it. Think fast!” Remus chucked a throwing star at Roman’s head. It wasn’t all that fast. If concentrating, Roman would easily be able to move out of the way.

It thudded between his eyebrows and stayed there, sticking out from the skin. Roman batted vaguely at it after almost five seconds, but he didn’t seem too bothered.

“Yikes.” Remus yanked the throwing star out of Roman’s head. Roman didn’t even flinch.

Okay. Not good. What else did he need to know? Stats? Like height and weight? He was skinnier than he used to be. But Remus didn’t know how much Roman used to weigh. It was the sort of creepy thing Janus might have written down. Janus, however, wasn’t here, and his specific orders to not go in his room _overruled_ the rule about Remus always being welcome. Boo.

So scratch that. What else? Maybe Remus should try and get a sense of Roman’s thoughts on the matter. Ask him some questions. Except he probably wouldn’t bother to answer. Whatever, worth a shot.

“So,” Remus said slowly, sitting on the carpet and gesturing for Roman to join him. A small patch of ketchup soaked his knee. “How’d this happen?”

Roman, who was in the middle of gladly collapsing onto the ground, stiffened and curled his knees up to his chest.

“Come on.” Remus pointed at all of Roman. “You wanna tell me what happened? I can only help if I know.”

Roman stared at his knees.

“Yes or no questions, okay?” Remus clicked his tongue. “Do you remember what happened?”

Roman nodded.

“Do you know what happened?”

Another nod.

“Do you know _why?_ ”

Roman paused before nodding.

“Sh*t, really?” Remus tried to contain his excitement. “Do you know how to fix it?”

Roman looked up and shook his head.

“Oh.” Remus swallowed. “Gotcha. Hey, better than nothing. So you _do_ know why this happened? Wanna share with the class?”

Roman gave him an annoyed look.

“Yeah, right. You’re not in the mood to talk. My bad.” Remus tried to rearrange the question. “Is it someone’s fault?”

Roman was motionless for a long time. He finally nodded, looking regretful.

“One person or many?” Remus held up one finger on one hand and several on the other.

Roman flexed all five fingers on his right hand before sticking one finger up on his left.

“Six people?” Remus counted on his own fingers. “That’s…Logan, Janus, Patton, Virgil, me…and Thomas?”

Roman shook his head.

“Not six people?”

Roman shook his head again.

“Okay. Great.” Remus sighed. “Let’s go one at a time. Logan?”

Roman nodded a little bit.

“With the deadlines and the arguing. I get that.” Remus snapped his fingers. “Oh! Forgot. He says he’s sorry, by the way. Sounds like he means it.”

Roman curled tighter into himself.

“Jan,” Remus continued. “That whole wedding thing, yeah? Total disaster.”

Roman nodded.

“Cool. Patton, the wedding thing again?”

Nod.

“Virgil?”

Roman looked very guilty, but he nodded briefly.

“What did Virgie do?” Remus asked, screwing up his face. “Thought you two were getting along.”

Roman waved a hand vaguely.

“Alright then,” Remus said. “We’ll come back to that later. Who else—oh, me, then Thomas—”

Roman shook his head firmly.

“No Thomas?”

Roman shook his head harder.

“Yes Thomas?” Remus frowned. “Then—”

Roman pointed at Remus and shook his head.

“No…no _me?_ ” Remus almost laughed. “What do you mean? Of course this is my fault!”

Roman shook his head once again.

“But—” Remus actually laughed this time. It was bitter and crackling and hurt his throat. “But you hate me! And—and I could have stopped this, and I didn’t, and—”

Roman shook his head, eyes gleaming with determination.

“I—” Remus nodded, blinking rapidly. “Cool. Cool-cool-cool. Who, then? Don’t tell me it’s—no, you’ve never met him—”

Roman tapped his sash.

“What—” Remus’ stomach dropped a few inches. “You?”

Roman tapped again, almost glaring at Remus now.

“Okay,” Remus said. “So we’ve got seven suspects—don’t look at me like that, I think you’re full of it and I’m putting myself on the list—and all of us messed up somehow. But, like, can you narrow down the list a bit? Find me someone to shake down? If you had to blame one person for this, and yeah, I know this sounds really mean but bear with me—if you had to blame one person, who would you choose?”

Roman barely hesitated before tapping his own chest.

“Oh, come on!” Remus complained. “Are you just being self-deprecating again? You know, not everything in the world is your fault.”

Roman didn’t take his hand off his chest.

“Fine.” Remus rolled his eyes. “Can’t tell if you’re being serious or if this is another Oh No I Hate Myself moment, so let’s try something else. If you discount yourself, who?” Remus held up his fingers. “Lo-Jan-Pat-Virge-me-Thomathy.”

Roman hesitantly raised six fingers.

“Thomas?”

Roman shrugged.

“What do you mean ‘shrug?’ Is it Thomas’ fault?”

“Thought it was,” Roman whispered.

“And now?”

Roman shrugged helplessly.

Remus couldn’t stop irritation from bubbling up inside of him like a lava lamp. “So you’re saying you actually _don’t_ know who’s fault this is.”

Roman pointed at himself.

“I _know_ you think that!” Remus yelled. “But I’m _trying_ to give you the benefit of the doubt, so can you work with me here? If it’s _your_ fault, then—”

Then there might be no way of fixing it.

“Thomas,” Remus said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll talk to Thomas, then. Maybe—maybe he’ll know something.”

But Thomas was sick. And Remus couldn’t leave Roman alone or he’d probably accidentally strangle himself. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t in the mood to play a daily game of What Are You Doing Here, Remus, Leave Me Alone.

“Later,” he told Roman, standing up. Roman followed. “For now?”

Roman tilted his head to the side.

“Well, I don’t know, don’t look at me!” Remus stuck his tongue out at Roman. “Want to go set fire to the kitchen?”

Roman stared at the floor.

“Alright, got it.” Remus needed something that Roman couldn’t get himself hurt doing, which eliminated most of his usual activities. “Do you want to play a game?”

Roman’s eyebrows drew together.

“Like, no games that involve talking, obviously.” Remus thought back to game nights with Jan and Virgil. “Monopoly? No fun with two people. Um, Uno?”

Roman shrugged, already looking about to fall asleep standing up.

“Oh, I know!” Remus remembered days when they were all tiny and earnest, crawling into every place imaginable and taunting whoever got found. “Hide and seek!”

Roman looked skeptical.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Remus grabbed Roman’s feet and dragged him to the kitchen table. “This can be the base. I’ll count to sixty and you hide, okay?”

Roman stared up at him. He had already gotten himself wedged between two chairs.

“Let’s go!” Remus hauled Roman upright. Then Remus carefully placed his eyeballs on the table. “I can’t see now, so hide! One staph infection, two staph infections—"

When Remus reached sixty, he grabbed blindly for his eyeballs and screwed them back into their sockets. Blinking away the blood, Remus saw that Roman had sat in one of the chairs, placed his head in his hands, and started blowing at an old straw wrapper.

“Hey!” Remus complained. “That’s a stupid hiding spot!”

Roman puffed his cheeks and blew the entire wrapper onto the floor. He looked somewhat bereft without it. Remus grabbed the wrapper and placed it back on the table, and Roman immediately started blowing at it again.

“Look, I’m all for breaking the rules, but you gotta work with me here.” Remus ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up on end. “I’ll hide this time, alright?”

Roman, staring at the wrapper intently, didn’t reply.

“Just start counting.” Remus paused. “Or, um, tap the table? Sixty times? For sixty seconds?”

Roman experimentally tapped the table.

“Cool. Good job.” Remus poked at Roman’s face until Roman closed his eyes. “Tap it sixty times and come find me, okay?”

Roman nodded and began to tap the table. Remus darted down the hall, pulled out some of his tentacles, and hauled himself onto the ceiling. Try listening for footsteps _now_ , Roman. He nestled himself in a corner by the stairs and waited. He couldn’t hear Roman counting, but he’d see whenever Roman entered the hallway.

Remus looked at the dreary walls around him and splashed some paint on his clothes to better blend in. If he was really trying—say, playing against Jan—he would paint his entire body the same color as the walls. But that might be a little too hard for Roman.

Remus flexed his tentacles. They were pretty freaking strong, but they’d get tired eventually. Hopefully Roman would find him soon.

But far more than sixty seconds passed. No Roman. Maybe he was still searching the living room? Remus stretched out his ears on little stalks and let them wiggle down the hallway, listening for any sign of movement. Nothing.

Well, maybe Roman was waiting for _Remus_ to make a noise. Or to give up entirely. That was one of Jan’s favorite strategies. Hmph. Remus reeled his ears back in. He could be patient! And he would be! He wouldn’t fall for this trap for the eleventh time!

After fifteen minutes or so, Remus sighed and stepped right into the trap. He banged his head on the wall, making sure it was impossible not to hear it, and scurried across the ceiling to a new hidey-hole.

Roman didn’t come to investigate. There wasn’t even a peep from the kitchen.

Oh, come _on_ , had he died?

Remus dropped to the ground, dislocating several joints on impact. He popped his shoulder and elbow back into place and sucked his tentacles into his body like large slimy spaghetti noodles. Yum. When all limbs were in the proper order and there weren’t any more or less than usual, Remus strode down the hall to make sure Roman hadn’t had an aneurysm or something.

(He’d had nightmares of Roman dying pretty often, back when he still slept. It wasn’t aneurysms, though. He got strangled a lot. Or burned, or drowned, or buried alive. Roman was a screamer in those dreams. He’d never stop screaming. The worst dreams were the ones where _Remus_ killed Roman, twisting a knife into his chest or fixing a hand around his throat and watching the light drain from his eyes. Powerless to stop himself. He’d always stab Roman soon after those dreams to remind himself that Roman survived it every time, Roman couldn’t die, Remus couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ kill him for real—and why was he _thinking_ about this, he shouldn’t be _thinking_ about it—)

Remus smashed the brain matter carrying those ugly little memories into a fine pulp. No time for nightmares. He had a game of Hide and Seek to win!

Well, not really. It was going to be more complicated than he’d hoped. Because when he walked into the kitchen, he saw that Roman had fallen asleep at the table.

Come. The. F*ck. On.

“Yo!” Remus yelled. “Ro-Bro!”

Roman raised his head up, blinking blearily in Remus’ general direction.

“You’re not supposed to fall asleep!” Remus stormed up to Roman and poked him in the shoulder. “I could respect cheating, but this is just sad! It’s no fun if you don’t try and find me!”

Roman looked Remus up and down and pointed at him.

“Find me _while I’m still hiding!_ ” Remus snapped. Ugh. He didn’t want to get so worked up about it. Getting angry was for Logan and Jan and Virgil and Patton—and up ‘til yesterday, Roman—because anger was no fun at all. It tasted like hot coals and barf and poison gas. It was just that he wanted to do something this afternoon and Roman just fell asleep because Roman was depressed now and why was _Roman_ the sad one, if anyone should get broken it should be _Remus,_ because the good twin wasn’t _supposed_ to turn bad, because Roman didn’t _deserve_ it—

“Whatever,” Remus said, turning away to hide his stinging eyes. “Guess I’ll stop including you and you can have your nap. Sorry for trying to be nice or whatever.”

Roman stared at the table, his shoulders crumpling a little bit. “Sorry.”

Aw, sh*t! He’d managed to mess up _again!_ “That’s not what I meant! I—” Remus rubbed his eyes. “Jeez. I guess…I guess I shouldn’t have forced you to play with me if you didn’t want. That was kinda, um, not nice.”

Roman looked a little less sad now. He squished his eyebrows together and put up one finger.

“One?” Remus beamed. “We get to play one game?”

Roman nodded.

“Yes! Thank you!” Remus clapped his hands. “This is gonna be the best! Okay, it can’t be a really all-out cheating-fest since Jan isn’t here—this one time, he shapeshifted into me to get me out early—but I can still make it work better for you! How ‘bout this? Instead of counting, take a teeny nap, and when you wake up, come find me! Okay? That way you can sleep and play the game, too!”

Roman nodded again, his face in the closest thing to a smile Remus had seen all day.

“Awesome!” Remus twirled around a few times. “Now do what you do best, brother dear, and fall asleep!”

Roman obediently lay back on the table. In a few seconds, he was dead to the world. Remus snuck down the hallway and started looking for a long-term hiding place. Maybe in his room? Yeah, he’d be able to have some fun before Roman woke up. And the other options were Jan’s room and the one he couldn’t get into if he tried—

Or Virgil’s room. Back when Virgil’s room was there. It was always easy to hide in Virgil’s room, wrapping himself in spiderwebs and darkness, hiding in the corner. It made for some really good jumpscare pranks. Virgil always hated those. Remus thought they were fun, but looking back on it, they just freaked Virgil out. Yet another entry on his long list of things he couldn’t/should’ve/would’ve done better to make Virgil stay.

Almost in a trance, Remus stepped forward and placed his hand on the spot where Virgil’s door used to be. It was cool to the touch and shivered away from his fingers. Like spiders shifting beneath the surface. Or maybe it was just Remus’ imagination and there was nothing there but wallpaper and memories.

Remus was Creativity. Imagination was more than enough.

Could he—could he actually—

He’d barely consider it on any other day. But he was tired and confused and worried, with a brother he didn’t know what to do with and a missing snaky mom friend and enough questions to fill a barrel of monkeys. And he had this gut feeling that Virgil was the key. Virgil held the answers. If he just went back in time and understood why Virgil went Upstairs he could understand why Roman did the reverse. He would finally know. All he had to do was create.

The thing he was made to do.

Remus spread his hand on the wall and _tugged._

And a wishy-washy watercolor memory pooled from his fingers, covering the wall and deepening in color until it was almost perfectly rectangular. The name PARANOIA was scrawled across it. Below, in smaller letters, KEEP OUT.

Just how Remus remembered.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he grabbed the doorknob. It was cool and slippery like a salmon, darting between his fingers, hard to pin down. Remus closed his eyes and tugged again.

There was a blast of air and the door melted into an open doorway. A picture-perfect mirage of Virgil’s old room. The edges were watery and indistinct, and when Remus reached out it bent around his hands like soggy paper, trying to decide what was real and what wasn’t.

Remus stepped forward carefully, imagining as hard as he could. Throwing himself into suppressed memories and remembering the quiet rustle of Virgil’s quilt, the dull thump of the bassline from Virgil’s headphones as he sketched something in his notebook, his mouth twisted in an almost smile, so different from the Dark Side everyone else saw. Like he was still the little spider with big eyes from when Remus had just split, wearing a too-big hoodie and clutching Jan’s hand like a lifeline. Back when he was all flight. The fight came later, dark and sharp, bristling with bitter words and gleaming eyes.

Remus took another step forward and the room unfurled like a carpet beneath his feet.

There it all was. The squeaky floorboards so Virgil would always hear anyone approaching. The spiderwebs clogged in the corners, grey and misty. The dark mahogany bedposts and the patchwork quilt—patchwork because it was a gift from Remus and Jan one year. They spent a long time sewing on each patch. There were the craggy little corners that always held beady red eyes and skittering sounds. There were the dim lamps whose light barely reached the edge of the room. There were the spider curtains. Pointless, really. The windows were dark and looked over nothing at all.

It was exactly as Remus remembered. But…intangible, ethereal, perpetually shifting. All the details were fuzzy. The colors leaked out of their spaces and bled into each other so Remus couldn’t tell where the walls ended and the floor began. The lines wavered and fidgeted and twitched around. Distance wasn’t really a thing. Neither was depth. Remus struggled to find his balance, a three-dimensional human in a 2-D landscape.

Why’d he wanted to do this again? He was still playing Hide and Seek, right? Ugh, it was hard to think in here. Maybe it was the memory itself that left him reeling, maybe the residual panic of being in Virgil’s room for too long.

He needed to go. He should go _now._

“What are you doing in my room?”

Remus prided himself on never being freaked out by jumpscares. Or anything, really. So he blamed it on the room that he yelped and jumped several feet in the air.

Virgil had appeared on the bed, solid and crisp against the memory, lounging in his purple patchwork jacket and coal-dark eyeshadow.

“Jeez, way to sneak up on someone!” Remus complained, his mind still screaming _Virgil Virgil Virgil Virgil’s here it’s Virgil it’s Virgil._ “Very rude.”

“What are you doing in my room?” Virgil repeated. He didn’t look mad. “Gonna destroy it all or something?”

“I was just curious,” Remus said. “Hey, hold on. What are _you_ doing in your room?”

“Pure coincidence.” Virgil shrugged. “I popped in to talk to you and turns out you were here.”

“I’ve only been in here a few seconds!”

Virgil frowned. “You have?”

Remus shook his head violently, trying to jostle the braincells back into position. “Yeah?”

“Huh.” Virgil looked at the watercolor soup around them with distrust. “So what is this place?”

“A memory.” Remus reached out and ran his fingers through a current of purple near the ceiling.

“Is it safe?” Virgil asked, poking at the bed.

“Maybe?” Remus shrugged. “I’ve never done this before, so I dunno.”

“What?” Virgil was beginning to look alarmed. “You just walked into a memory without knowing what it does?”

“Yes?”

Virgil curled up a bit on the bed. “Since when have you been able to do this, anyway?”

“I dunno.” Remus splashed his foot with a puddle of brown. “Maybe I’m able to do more stuff now that Roman’s not hogging all the Creativity.”

Virgil sat up, his eyes flashing. “Don’t you _dare_ say that.”

“Huh?” Remus resisted the urge to run out of the room. He’d forgotten how scary Virgil could be.

“Don’t say that!” Virgil growled. “He wasn’t ‘hogging’ the creativity. He was keeping it safe!”

“Safe,” Remus repeated. “From me?”

“Uh, yeah? You with full creative control? Surprised you haven’t burned the place down yet.”

“Give me some credit!” Remus snapped. “I’m not totally insane!”

“Oh, really?” Virgil smirked. “Might need to see some proof of that. Shall we investigate your brain? Oh, wait—you don’t have one!”

“B*tch,” Remus muttered. “Why the h*ll are you here, anyway? I don’t need to stand around and be insulted. If I wanted that, I’d have sought you out myself.”

“Ugh.” Virgil rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I—ugh. It doesn’t matter. I just…please don’t talk about Roman like that, okay?”

Oh. _Oh._ “I—” Remus bit his lip. “That’s not really what I meant. I just, well, didn’t think.”

“Who could have guessed?” Virgil sighed. He looked really tired, Remus realized. The darkness under his eyes wasn’t all makeup. Jeez, were _all_ the Light Sides disasters right now? “I—I’m just worried about him.”

“I know,” Remus said. “Already talked to Patisserie and Logarithm about that.”

“You did?”

“Yep!”

“What happened?”

“Um.” Remus paused. “The usual. Screaming. Morality bogus. Didn’t listen much.”

“Uh-huh.” Virgil nodded slowly. “I talked to Logan, too. That’s—he was the one who psyched me up to come down here. So…how _is_ Roman?”

Remus quickly ran through all the possible answers. He could say “dead” and freak Virgil out, which would be funny, but would make Virgil leave, and even though Virgil was being pretty mean Remus still didn’t want him to leave.

“Iffy,” he said, deciding to go with the truth. “How’s Jan?”

Virgil looked confused. “How would I know? We don’t talk.”

“But I thought—” Well. Maybe Jan wasn’t universally popular with the Lights after all. Was it mean that Remus felt kind of glad about that? “Eh, nevermind.”

“Iffy,” Virgil muttered. “That tells me nothing.”

“He’s alive,” Remus said. “He’s okay. Well, on the outside. No idea what’s going on beneath the surface.”

Virgil nodded. “Has he talked to you about what happened?”

“He’s barely even talked.”

“Right.” Virgil curled tighter. He was a little hoodie ball now, the only solid thing in a whirlpool of colors. “Got it.”

“Hey, look on the bright side!” Remus said, grinning, hoping he could get Virgil to stop looking so small. “He’s way less of a bore now! And he hasn’t died or anything, at least not yet—”

Virgil looked incredulously at him. “Would it kill you to be helpful?”

“Helpful isn’t my thing.” Remus laughed. “Why do you care so much, anyway? You wanna smash my bro? ‘Cause I don’t think emo b*tches are his type—”

“Remus!” Virgil yelled. “Jeez! I don’t!”

“Deny it all you want, it doesn’t change the truth.” Remus leaned forward and wiggled his hips. “Hey, I just think you could do better. If you want a wild night, you know who to call—”

“Ew!” Virgil screwed up his face. “Can’t you be normal for two seconds?”

“No can do!”

“Why did I even come here?” Virgil uncurled and jumped off the bed, caught by a sheen of black ink. “This was a mistake. I knew it was a mistake.”

“Then why’d you come?”

“I—” Virgil threw up his hands. “I dunno! I just figured that you’d be less of a jerk and put aside this whole feud thing for Roman’s sake.”

“Hold on.” Remus folded his arms. “ _I_ have to ‘put aside’ the feud? You think _I’m_ the one who wants to be fighting?”

“Yeah! You hate me!” Virgil growled. “Well, forgive me for thinking you could ever be halfway decent.”

“Well, forgive _me_ for thinking it wouldn’t take a _crisis_ to get you to talk to me again!”

Remus’ voice was way, way too loud. And too angry. Virgil flinched and stepped back, clutching his sleeve. Remus tamped down a rush of guilt.

“Hey.” Virgil stared at the floor. “Clearly you don’t want me around. And I’d rather not be here either. So—so just tell Roman…tell him I’m here, okay? If he needs me, I’m here. And I—”

Virgil extended his hand and gave Remus a piece of paper. “For Roman.”

There was a little cartoon drawing of a frog on it. The frog was saying YOU ARE INVITED TO DINNER!!! 6:00 PM!!! CHICKEN AND SALAD!!! PLEASE COME IF YOU CAN!!!! LOVE, PATTON.

“Patton’s idea,” Virgil said. “It’s…it’s for Roman. We’d like to see him. If that’s okay.”

“He might not want to,” Remus said. “I’ll tell him, though.”

“Great.”

“Um.” Remus shifted. “Am I invited?”

“What?” Virgil frowned. “Why would you want to come?”

“I don’t,” Remus said. Lie. “I…I don’t want Roman to go alone, though. We’re a package deal.”

Virgil watched Remus with an unreadable expression. Finally he sighed. “I guess Patton would kill me if I said no, so fine. You can come.”

“Oh, yeah.” Remus grinned widely. “Dinner with the good kids. This’ll be fun.”

“Janus is invited too,” Virgil added, staring at the floor again. “If he wants.”

“Thought he ate with you all the time now.”

“He always goes Downstairs before dinner to cook for you.”

“Oh.”

Virgil nodded. “Um, I’m going to go, okay? If that’s all…yeah.”

“Wait.” Remus stepped forward. “You…you were in Roman’s room, right? When he fell?”

Virgil visibly flinched, but his gaze remained steady. “Me and Thomas. What’s it to you?”

“I just—” Remus hesitated, which was weird for him. Why did he feel like he was walking on thin ice? “What happened?”

Virgil blew a bit of air out of his mouth, ruffling his bangs. “A lot and not enough.”

Remus hung out with Jan on the daily, and he _still_ thought that was ridiculously vague.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it,” Virgil said before Remus could ask any more questions. “Just—I think maybe being Upstairs would help Roman.”

“How?”

Virgil looked disconcerted. “We could—we could do a better—I mean—"

“You’re saying he’s not safe down here.” Remus’ hands curled into fists. “That’s what the dinner invite is _really_ about. You want to steal him back.”

“No one’s _stealing_ anything,” Virgil protested. “We’re just giving him options.”

“He _has_ options. He _chose_ to stay here.”

“Did he? Or did he not know he’s welcome with us?” Virgil hissed, a dry, rasping sound. “Or did you tell him we hated him so you’d get to keep him for yourself? Did you pit him against us so he wouldn't leave?”

“I’ve tried to tell him, he _likes_ it here—”

“This is _not_ the best place for him right now—”

“—I don’t actually _enjoy_ having him around—”

“It’s no offense, it’s just how I see it, I don't want a repeat of history—”

Remus growled. “ _You_ just don’t trust Jan to take care of him.”

“Jan isn’t _here!_ ” Virgil snapped. “ _You’re_ here. And Remus, I wouldn’t trust _you_ with a potted plant.”

Remus laughed, something breaking in his chest. “We did pretty well with you! Or did you forget all the years we _f*cking_ raised you?”

“This is not about that!”

“Don’t lie.” Remus grinned wider. “Thought you didn’t like liars, Virgie.”

“It’s not about us.” Virgil sighed and slumped back onto the bed. “It can’t be. I—that would be selfish. It’s about Roman. What makes _him_ happy. And…nothing else.”

“I don’t think he’s happy here,” Remus admitted. “But I don’t think he’ll be happy with you, either.”

“Can we give it a go?” Virgil looked up. “One evening. That’s all I’m asking. For Roman’s sake.”

Remus sighed. “For Roman.”

“Yeah.” Virgil laughed a little bit. “This is such a mess, isn’t it?”

“I like messes!” Remus protested. “But…yeah, it is.”

They fell silent, colors swirling and tilting around them.

“I should go,” Virgil said abruptly, standing up with his hands in his pockets. “Um, be there tonight, then?”

“We will.”

“Cool.” Virgil nodded. “See you, then. And—and take care of Roman, okay?”

One last bit of bitterness fought its way out of Remus’ throat. “Thought you were the one who was good at that.”

“Me too.” Virgil pressed his lips together. “I think I was wrong.”

“He says it’s your fault,” Remus said slowly. “At least a little bit. I don’t believe him. I don’t think _he_ believes him. I think he’s just looking for someone to blame.” Remus looked away. “So—so am I.”

“It is.” Virgil’s voice was choked. “I tried, Remus. I really did. But I—I must have messed up somewhere, done something wrong—I wasn’t enough to—”

“It’s your fault,” Remus agreed. “Partly. But that’s okay.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, swiping at his cheeks. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“No,” Remus said simply. “Because you hurt my brother. But so did I.”

Virgil nodded. “We—we all did. And he hurt himself, too.”

“But it doesn’t matter now.” Remus shrugged. “It’s over and done with. We made our choices and now we’re here.”

“I hate that,” Virgil said, but his mouth twitched.

“Hey, what did you expect, sunshine and rainbows?” Remus laughed. “If you think about it, probably _none_ of us will be any good at taking care of Roman.”

“So maybe…” Virgil’s smile grew a little bit. “Maybe we can try to work together? For Roman?”

Remus’ mouth was dry, but he stammered out an “Okay.”

“See you,” Virgil said, and lifted his arm in a salute. Then he was gone, the colors melting into the space left behind. Without Virgil to anchor him, the entire place began to swim, crumble apart at the seams.

Remus stumbled out of the room. Invitation still clutched in his hand. The hallway was dark and silent. Someone was sitting under Remus’ door. Roman.

“Hey!” Remus said.

Roman looked up, and relief flickered over his face. “Re!”

“Hey, you’re talking!” Remus sat down next to Roman. “Sorry I ruined the game. I—got distracted.”

Roman bit his lip. “Couldn’t find you.”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Thought you left.”

“Oh.” Remus swallowed. “Sorry. I—I didn’t mean to be gone for that long. I think time worked differently than I thought it did.”

Roman frowned. “Where?”

Remus looked back at the spot where the memory used to be. Nothing there but wallpaper, firm and steady. He might have thought he’d imagined it, if not for the piece of paper in his hand.

“I talked to someone,” Remus said. “And guess what? We’ve been invited to dinner.”


End file.
